


Sweet Milk

by LazyBaker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adult Breastfeeding, Domestic, Fluff, Lactation, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Nipple Play, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, domestic filth, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will begins to lactate. Hannibal is absolutely thrilled. Will is getting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **No** m-preg. **Not** ABO. Simply male lactation set post-season 3. 
> 
> I’m exaggerating a biological possibility for the sake of kinkiness. This is based off of a few conversations with friends and has gotten quite out of hand in terms of length.

Will had volunteered to clean what was left of the dishes and pans, wanting to give Hannibal a moment to relax and savor the meal they’d just eaten.

Dinner had been good, Will had made some truly indecent noises while he’d eaten. Somewhat for Hannibal’s own pleasure, but mostly because he couldn’t not moan around the slice of perfectly cooked steak. 

He’d been shooed out of the kitchen earlier. Will had managed to help enough with preparing the vegetables, leaving the meat for Hannibal to handle, to feel like he’d been productive and of use before Hannibal insisted he go set the table and have a drink of wine. 

The pans were neatly lined up on the drying rack with only a few more dishes left for Will to clean. Will rubbed at his chest, feeling odd. 

There was an unfamiliar pressure settling in Will’s chest, resting against his rib cage. The pressure had been growing for the past few days, small at first, hardly noticeable, and not at all painful, but it was there and it was insistent. 

Will hadn’t said anything to Hannibal, unwilling to break the calm they were reveling in after a year long recovery and hopping from country to country, sailing with no destination in mind except for a place where they could hide and rest for a little while, finally landing on the opposite coast they started at, Humboldt. 

It was indigestion, most likely. Or maybe something more along the lines of emotions causing havoc with him. Knowing his mind and all those messy feelings had a steel like hold on his body, it was a possibility. 

 _Plus_ , he thought, _Hannibal hadn’t said anything either_. 

At this point Will had confidence Hannibal would tell him if he noticed anything strange or if he sniffed out an illness. They were both too far gone to not be truthful with each other. 

For the moment Will chalked it up to the new sensation he was starting to feel at home in their new house and new country. That comfortable relaxed feeling where he could sleep through the night without waking once, which was something he hadn’t felt in years. 

Hannibal was alive. Will was alive. They were together. They had an actual home with a backyard and goddamn hot tub. He felt complete and healthy and horny as hell and so genuinely happy he found himself smiling when he woke up in the morning. 

The sappy voice in his head, which thrilled in domesticity, offered that maybe the pressure making itself at home was happiness. 

He pushed it to the back of his mind, a simple thing to do. He’d say something if it got worse and suffer through Hannibal’s little concerned ‘tsks’ as he reprimanded him for not telling him sooner. 

Now, he concentrated on the dishes, letting his thoughts drift somewhere else, thinking instead of how Hannibal looked during dinner. Sitting across from him at the table, dressed comfortably with his chest hair peaking through the teasingly long v of his unbuttoned collar. How the dark maroon of the fabric made the red of his eyes stand out as he looked back at Will just as intently, open and welcoming with the sharp cut of his want. 

Will felt himself once again growing warm. He was enamored, filled with a striking sweetness aimed solely at Hannibal. Captive and practically salivating at the thought of burying his face and hands in Hannibal’s thick patch of chest hair, the hard unrelenting firmness of his chest and the softness of his belly as Will would follow the trail of hair down down down, fluffier and not at all as coarse as it appeared. Perfect for Will to nuzzle against. 

Will shook his head, clamping his mouth shut and breathing hard through his nose. He ignored the tent of his slacks or the nagging suggestion in his mind to forget the clean up and go to the living room and climb on top of Hannibal. 

 _Later_ , he reminded himself. He wouldn’t leave this half finished only for Hannibal to complete once Will was passed out in bed. 

He concentrated on the dishes, willing his blood to move back north. To stay focused on the present and not to run away with his fantasies. 

There was a stubborn spot refusing to come off of the plate no matter how hard Will scrubbed. He was reluctant to use his nails, the little angel face beneath the dried sauce would most likely chip off. 

 _An antique_. Hannibal had been all too happy to have found the complete set of dishes, fond of the chubby Botticelli angels looking up at him. Will thought they were gaudy and ugly and tried not to make eye contact with any of the many little faces on his plate. 

This was why Will never owned hand painted plates. They were too ornate and too expensive and had the inconvenient quality of needing to be hand washed, taking up Will’s time when the alternative was cheaper and just as good and could be placed into a dishwasher without any thought if the angels would live through a cycle. 

But Hannibal liked these plates and had smiled when he’d shown them to Will, so Will stuck to using only the soft side of the sponge, hoping the spot would come off cleanly in the next five minutes and not with a fifty year old angel’s nose.

The disapproving frown from Hannibal was a clear image in his mind. Slight and barely there, but _oh so effective_. 

Hannibal stepped into the kitchen, he’d taken his shoes off and the soft pad of his feet were barely audible. 

“ _Love, which absolves no one beloved from loving_ ,” Hannibal stood behind Will, not touching him, but the heat of his body seared Will’s entire backside. “ _Seized me so strongly with his charm that, as you see, it has not left me yet_.” 

“Are you trying to get me into bed by quoting Dante?” Will didn’t turn around, wanting to keep at this game of flirtations. 

Hannibal nosed the back of Will’s ear, pushing him to bare his throat without thought. The purr in Hannibal’s voice telling him what their plans were for the rest of the night and into the morning, images unravelling in his head. Blatant and pornographic, the heat of his body kept building and building for that final push. 

Will opened his eyes, he didn’t know when he’d closed them. His scrubbing had all but stopped, the dish and sponge hanging limply in his hands.

Their conversation was lazy, words spoken through a thick hazy air, dense like water, which fogged Will’s mind in a wonderful way. Hannibal, he could only assume, was being similarly drowned. 

“You don’t have to try so hard,” Will said, panting. He grabbed onto the edge of the sink with his one free hand as Hannibal kissed behind his ear, that one spot that made his knees buckle. 

“But you like when I do,” Hannibal played with the hem of Will’s shirt, untucking it from the back. The cool air and Hannibal’s hot fingers spreading on his naked skin had Will sighing. “And I’m quoting Hollander who’s translating Dante and it doesn’t have to be the bed.” 

“It doesn’t have to be Dante either. And that really only works for you,” Will gathered himself enough to carefully set the plate on the counter, hands trembling, and dropped the sponge onto its little plastic holder by the sink. Hannibal kept touching him--his stomach and his sides and the brunt of his fingers lingered on his belt buckle. 

Hannibal’s hands stilled. “I disagree.” 

“What was that last line,” Will drawled, letting his vowels run dry on his tongue. He dried his hands, folding the kitchen towel in three. “ _Love brought us to one death_ , I think that was it. Or should I say it in Italian? _Amore condusse noi--_ ” 

Hannibal hugged Will, bringing him to his chest in a tight embrace which pushed the air from his lungs. His hips were snug against Will’s ass, the familiar presence of Hannibal’s erection hard and wanting against him. Along his back he could feel Hannibal’s rapid heart beating happily. 

Will laughed, patting at Hannibal’s hands. Will’s Italian needed a lot of work, but the details didn’t seem to matter much to Hannibal as long as it was Will who stumbled through the language. 

“Point taken,” Hannibal said, muffled as his lips seemed to be glued to Will’s neck--the side, the back, any skin he could latch onto--tenacious in his attempt to give him a complete collar of bruises and bites. “Shall I try something else?” 

Hannibal’s hands moved up Will’s chest in one long, rough slide, and started to circle Will’s nipples in delightful little swirls. The cotton of his shirt creating a blissfully ragged friction that sent sparks up Will. 

Will made a small _aah_ noise, high and light, leaning his entire weight back onto Hannibal, resting on him completely. Hannibal was always so clever and intuitive when it came to what Will wanted and, in the end, what he needed. 

“Is this better than the inferno?” Hannibal kissed just underneath Will’s ear. His large thumbs running nimble tracks, pushing and tempting whatever pressure was in his chest to burst and find relief. Will’s hips bucked futile in the air. 

“You know it is. You just want me to say it.” 

“No one knows me as well you do.” 

“I’m not going to feed your ego, it’s already too big.”

“Spoil me, then.” 

“Christ. Could you just--“ Will gasped. Hannibal pinched both his nipples at once, digging his nails in hard through his shirt. Will cried out, his back bowing in one long curve. He reached behind him and grabbed ahold of Hannibal by his hips, digging his own fingers into the meat of Hannibal’s backside. 

“Would you like me to do that again?” 

 _Smug asshole_ , he thought fondly. 

Unwilling to voice his need or say the words _yes please_ out loud for many reasons he couldn’t quite pin down himself, Will nodded. Certain Hannibal knew he had melted into a puddle of ignited nerves. 

“The dishes can wait,” Hannibal pulled Will from the sink, arms linked around him, threatening to pick him up and carry him to bed. Will let himself be led to their bedroom and set the task of cleaning up the kitchen for the Will in the future who didn’t have an impatient other half ready to pounce on him. 

- 

The blankets had been kicked off the bed, too warm with the stuffy air of him and Hannibal and KY lubrication and sex mixed together to create something truly musky and nice that Will, for the moment, would like to wrap himself in for days on end. 

The bed was big with the right amount of softness. It had no frame yet, still sitting on its box springs on the floor against the wall, large decorative pillows acting as a temporary headboard. Another project Will was more than a little excited to take on. 

When they had sex, Hannibal tended to cling to Will and Will couldn’t say if he did the same. Months of falling in together had allowed Will to turn off his mind and the overthinking that would follow, the self-awareness which resulted in awkwardness and Will’s face going red in embarrassment at what his body wanted rather than the natural flush of his skin as Hannibal’s thick and hard and so so big prick fucked slippery and wet between Will’s thighs.

Hannibal lay behind Will, curved around his body and holding him close, hands on his chest and his legs and his face and his throat--pulling at Will everywhere at once. It made his senses itch for more as every half-hearted inhibition he had was stripped from him with every lick and kiss and hardly restrained bite. 

Sweat slicked and the heat between them invitingly hot, his hands cupping and kneading at Will’s chest. Teasing his nipples with the tips of his fingers making little circles on the hard tips. Tugging and pulling and nudging at the pressure. His small touches felt huge. Making Will gasp and pant into the mattress, digging his forehead into the soft foam material. 

 _Really_ , Will shoved his face into the pillow, biting the fabric and cursing Hannibal and his hands and his goddamn cock and the unending spike of electricity directed at twin points of contact, _Hannibal’s only just barely clingier than I am_. 

“Clench your thighs tighter,” Hannibal’s voice was indecent, wrecked with strain and pleasure, whispered just under Will’s ear and against his throat. Without thought Will did as he was told, tightening the muscles of his legs, feeling Hannibal pulsing and stuttering between them, a whine stripped from his throat. 

Hearing Hannibal so lost and pleased always managed to set Will on edge. With one hand he grabbed at the bed and he threw his other arm over his head, opening himself to Hannibal as much as he could. 

Hannibal was quick to bury his nose in Will’s armpit, burrowing into the thick hair and inhaling, groaning low. The vibrations from his chest thrummed through Will causing him to shudder. Hannibal tweaked his nipples harshly as a reward. 

“You awful, wonderful precious little thing,” Hannibal said. Will bit his lip trying not to smile. Being praised was still something that caught him in his chest in an unkind curl of pleasure. He liked it too much. 

 _Shut up_ , he didn’t say. Instead he hid his face in the pillow, giving Hannibal ample space to grip him tighter to his chest, pulling him back and not allowing him to hide. 

Hannibal had cruel hands and unrelenting fingers that sought to wreck every wall Will had ever built and focused entirely on twisting and tugging harshly at Will’s nipples, grabbing his chest and molding him with his fingers until his nails turned white and pink welts ran like crude strokes over Will’s pectorals right to his rubbed raw nipples. 

“You could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” Hannibal’s hips stuttered, bucking hard against Will’s ass in loud obscene slaps as his cock drove between his thighs and rubbed the underside of his ballsack, creating the perfect friction that teased at release. He flicked at Will’s nipples. “I don’t even need to touch you.” 

Will shook his head, his eyes clenched shut. He could cum like this, shoot all over himself up to his damn neck with Hannibal between his legs and his too clever hands pulling and kneading his nerve ripened nipples from behind with his own dick left untouched, bouncing in the air and against the sheets, leaking so profusely he was ready to erupt without any help at all from a calloused hand. 

It was base and wicked and filthy and so gratifying Will sobbed into his pillow. 

Hannibal said something he couldn’t quite understand, but the emotion read clearly. He was as much of a mess as Will was and his English was slipping. Will felt a bubble of pride at making Hannibal so debauched.

“My dear, sweet Will,” Hannibal said after a moment, he adjusted his grip and massaged Will’s chest. Gathering as much of Will in his palms to pinch and squeeze. Hands working even quicker, determined to get Will off untouched. Will hoped it would work and the very idea of it sent spasms through his body. 

The pressure in his chest that had been there all day was pushing and pushing and Hannibal’s adept hands, big and warm and hard, seemed to be driving it forward until _there_ \--relief sprung and he opened his mouth in a silent gasp. Hannibal stilled, his fingers loosening their grip on his chest.

“Will?” Hannibal lifted his head to peer over Will’s torso, down at his chest and his hands. His fingers gently squeezed, testing and curious and there it was again. Something white and creamy was coming out of him in steady spurts onto Hannibal’s palms and onto the bed. 

Will didn’t move. He stared and the silence between them stretched.

Hannibal sniffed the air. 

“This is milk,” He said. Amazed and in awe at what Will’s body had gone and done without his knowledge. It was so easy to slip into what Hannibal was feeling, their emotions so closely knitted together, Will was having trouble parsing out what was originating from his head. 

His mind was still collecting itself after this abrupt change, embarrassment being the first thing to spring itself on him. He needed a moment.

Will pushed Hannibal’s hands away and sat up. Untangled himself from the bed and the blankets on the floor. Hannibal tried to calm him down, his hands coming to rest on Will’s shoulders, but he shrugged them off.

“I’m fine,” Will said, knowing it wouldn’t sound at all convincing. He pushed off the bed and rushed to the connecting bathroom in a few determined strides, locking the door behind him. 

- 

The _en suite_ was elegant with white stone and wooden walls, complimenting the cabin-like feeling of their house. The sleekness of the bathroom felt at odds, though, with how Will was feeling and how he looked. 

His hair was matted to his head and sticking up in places, he was covered in both his and Hannibal’s sweat and cum and saliva. The lubrication and Hannibal’s pre-cum between his thighs and in the cleft of his ass were becoming tacky. He needed a shower, but he was rooted in front of one of the mirrors, staring at his chest. 

He turned from side to side, eyes focused on his chest. There was no swelling he could see, nothing so pronounced to qualify as ‘ _breasts_ ’. He hadn’t paid much attention to the details of how his body looked in the past few years, only paying mind to the various wounds he needed to patch up and look after. 

He looked down at his chest in the mirror, there were bruises from bite marks and large hands that only squeezed hard when Will wanted them to. Red lines from neatly trimmed nails all over him. His nipples were red and swollen, still thrumming from being touched. Wet from Hannibal’s mouth and the lubrication from his hands. 

There were newer scars. His stomach had gotten a little more rounder with his more sedentary lifestyle. He didn’t have his dogs to run around or go on walks with for hours at a time. He didn’t have a boat to manage or maintain, either. He’d gained a few pounds since settling down. 

Will touched his stomach, fingers groping at the just-realized softness around his middle. It wasn’t big enough at all to be considered a gut like his father had had, but it was on the starting line.

He hadn’t noticed until now and he wondered if maybe his chest had gotten bigger, softer as well. 

Hannibal would know. If Will cut one strand of his hair Hannibal would notice. If there wasn’t a conversation about it then there would be _that look_ saying he was very aware. 

Another knock. 

Will’s eyes snapped to the door, he was unused to blocking Hannibal out, but in this moment, it couldn’t be helped.

Hannibal tried the door knob again and called out his name, asking if he was all right. He was worried, Will’s stomach tied itself into a knot. Will hadn’t intended for that to happen. 

 _He’s going to break the door down soon_ , he thought as he listened to the lack of movement on the other side, knowing Hannibal was pressed up against it, listening back. 

“I’m fine. Really,” Will said again, meaning it more this time. “Just give me a second.” 

Taking a calming breath, Will began to touch his chest, softly prodding without putting too much pressure. Inhaling through his nose and counting to ten, he pinched his nipples like Hannibal had done and squeezed. 

Two streams of milk sprayed out and onto the mirror and sink, making a mess on the counter. Will stopped immediately, hands flying off of himself in alarm.

 _Well there’s that_ , Will stared dumbly at the white slowly dripping down the mirror. His face was on fire. 

Will’s body had apparently decided this was an appropriate thing to do with his newfound freedom. With that thought, Will wondered just how long he could stay in the bathroom without Hannibal barging through the door or climbing through the window or remembering the key tucked away on top of the door trim.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

“This is most likely due to your predilection for nipple play,” Hannibal said. The bathroom door muffled his voice somewhat, but Will could hear what he was attempting to do. Soothe him. Calm him down enough for Will to open the door himself and not Hannibal.

The words _nipple play_ made Will bristle. Oddly indignant to have those sensations that made his mind melt and his body tremble so intensely summed up that succinctly. It was crude. 

He refused to think about how sensitive he was or how ecstatic Hannibal had been to discover this particular part of him. 

Will glared at the splatter on the mirror, sighed, picked up the hand towel and began to wipe it and the sink clean. 

“Can you,” Will rubbed at the drying sweat on his forehead. He imagined a night where they had both gotten off and they were lying on the bed, Hannibal’s head on his chest while Will lightly combed through Hannibal’s long hair. It would have been peaceful and nice and everything Will wanted at the moment. It would not have been _this_. “Can we put a pin in this conversation?” 

“Would you come out then?” 

Hannibal had not moved from the door. Will could easily see him, leaning his weight against the door and waiting with that little furrow to his brow. Maybe one hand was on the knob and his other pressed against the grain of the wood, trying to feel Will the best he could at the moment. 

Guilt flourished inside him and tied itself into an ugly knot in his stomach. 

“Just give me a minute,” Will stopped himself and tried for a friendlier tone. It wasn’t difficult. “Let me take a shower, I’m a mess. My legs are practically glued together right now.” 

“May I join you?” 

“Hannibal.” 

“All right,” A soft thud. Will wondered if it was Hannibal’s hand or if he had put his head on the door. “I hadn’t intended this to happen.” 

“I believe you,” Will threw the towel in the hamper. He turned the shower on. The water would take a few minutes to get warm. The house was old and the water heater was far from being functional or up to Will’s standards. He’d been putting off replacing it knowing it would be a hassle of a task as well as uncomfortably expensive. 

Will took the short reprieve to brush his teeth, looking at Hannibal’s blue toothbrush with another jolt of guilt that he didn't attempt to repress. Rather, he let it flourish and bloom with a new sense of ease into fantasies of Hannibal looking stricken and clawing at the wood of the door, fighting to get to him. The sweetness of it mixed with the bitterness of the rock sitting solidly in the pit of his stomach was on the border of satisfying. 

Will sighed, spitting into the sink. It couldn’t be helped. He needed to think and to adjust and having Hannibal’s hands all over him wasn’t amenable to that. 

He glared at himself in the mirror--at his deceivingly bare and unassuming chest, the steam slowly covering his reflection. 

He looked like a mess. Sweat and cum and various other fluids that were his own and Hannibal’s and factory made covered him from head to toe. Stopping at the crest of sex, with Hannibal throbbing between his legs and Will just about to be pushed over into his release had set Will on edge. He felt tangled with too many strings that had been bundled up and left knotted together. 

Will tested the water of the shower with the back of his hand. It was hot enough to turn his skin bright red quickly. He turned the temperature knob slightly to the left and got in, shutting the glass door behind himself. 

For a moment Will stood under the shower head without moving, face upturned and letting the water run down him and do what it could without him lifting a hand. Enjoying the warmth and the steady pressure of it soothing his tender skin. 

Grabbing Hannibal’s loofa--pink and frilly, Will couldn’t help but smile at the image of burly Hannibal washing himself with it--he soaped it up and first cleaned between his legs, the tackiness had become far too unpleasant and then moved outwards. He avoided putting much pressure on his chest and only lightly scrubbed himself there. Wary something might come out. It was all still a little new for him. 

He was quick, washing only the basics for a proper night’s rest after discontinued sex. Drying himself off, he wrapped the towel around his waist. He hadn’t brought a change of underwear or sweatpants with him. 

Will eyed the fluffy robe hanging by the door. It was Hannibal’s, his own was in the hamper after an incident involving raw batter and the impatience of a hungry stomach. Hannibal had bought them matching robes a few months back when they’d made a stop at Vancouver. The material was unbelievably soft and Will had in the past spent days walking around whichever place they were staying, wrapped in the robe and nothing else. 

The saleswoman had called them ‘ _His and His_ _robes, the perfect attire for newlyweds’_. Will had barely managed to convince Hannibal to not get them monogrammed after that line. 

Will pulled the robe on, letting it hang off his shoulders. Sniffing it without thought. Smelling Hannibal and liking that he could. 

 _God we’re gross_ , he thought. _First the loofa now this, we might as well use the same tooth brush_. 

Holding his breath he could hear Hannibal in their bedroom changing the sheets. Will bit his lip and the guilt of pushing Hannibal away and putting a physical barrier between them nipped at his heels. 

He looked himself up and down in the mirror again, the steam having dissipated somewhat to allow him to see his reflection once again. He scratched at his beard, he hadn’t shaved in months only trimming it when he thought of it. 

Maybe he should shave. 

His gaze traveled down, no longer able to distract himself. The bruises were still there, the bite marks, the pink skin, the swollen nipples that sent sparks up his body with the robe simply brushing feather light against them. They were still red and thrumming from being touched. 

Part of Will didn’t want to think of it as milk--refused to let the word find stable footing in his mind. But the other part of him, the one that had been ignored for so long, was singing with curiosity to touch and acknowledge this shift in his body. Repeating on a loop, unsure if it was his own voice or Hannibal’s, ‘ _what’s the harm in a little exploration?_ ’ 

There was only one answer, he supposed, though it didn’t make it any easier or any more comfortable to accept. 

Will stared hard at his scars. Bullet wounds. Stab wounds. A literal gutting smiling up at him. Bedelia’s words slithered out of his memory, ‘ _You righteous, reckless, twitchy little man_ ’. He could use some of that reckless high he’d been on back then. 

Taking a deep breath again, Will ran his fingers along his chest, hesitantly circling around his areolas before making contact. He pressing down softly and then with slightly more pressure he pinched. 

Small droplets of milk dribbled out on both sides. He caught some in the palm of his hands. It was white and creamy. Refusing to overthink, Will licked it. 

 _Sweet_. 

Hannibal knocked on the door, startling Will. He quickly rinsed his hands off in the sink. 

“Tell me what you’re feeling.” 

Will tied his robe roughly around his waist, embarrassed. “You mean other than horrified I’m growing tits?” 

“Will, all men have breasts. The default state of the human body--“ 

“Not what I want to hear right now,” Will bit out. Attempting to keep the calm he had cultivated from the hot shower and failing. He roughly slicked his wet hair back, his fingers gliding through it easily. He hadn’t bothered to comb it. It would tangle as he slept, but he didn’t care. “I’m a forty year old man leaking milk out of my goddamn chest. I’m allowed to be a little freaked out.” 

“And that is a completely understandable reaction.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I feel I should inform you,” Will stopped breathing. “It has quite a sweet aroma.” 

Will tripped over himself to unlock the door, flinging it open. He glared at Hannibal through the thick haze of his blushing mortification. 

“Excuse me?” 

Hannibal had some decency left to look slightly apologetic. Though it quickly melted into something far more heated when he saw Will in his robe. 

“At first I thought it was your diet affecting your scent, then I thought perhaps it was a side effect from the higher altitude. But after tonight,” Hannibal trailed off, flashing his charismatic smile at him. “It’s a very charming shift in your bouquet, Will.” 

“Don’t ‘ _bouquet-Will_ ’ me. You’re being opportunistic,” Will wrapped his arms around his chest, feeling exposed. He wasn’t huffing, but he was close. 

He pushed passed Hannibal. The room had been cleaned. The lube placed back inside its drawer. Their clothes folded and placed on the settee in front of the bed and the blankets had been tucked back into their proper place. It would have looked like they hadn’t gone to bed yet if it wasn’t for the lingering scent of sex still clinging to the walls. 

Hannibal himself had cleaned up, wiping away any evidence of what they had done from his body. His hair was neatly brushed and draped over one shoulder, not the tangled mess it had been from Will’s hands. He was composed and dressed. It was unfair how Hannibal could do that so quickly. 

Will deflated. Hannibal placed his hand on Will’s arm, gently nudging him forward and then leading him to the bed. 

“Sit,” Will did, he perched stiffly on the edge of the bed, holding himself tightly as Hannibal--elegant in all things and all moments--kneeled between his legs. He took Will’s hands and pressed a kiss to the inside of both of his wrists. Small pecks that sent his blood racing in another attempt to soothe him. 

Hannibal’s hand paused on the lapels of Will’s robe, waiting for his consent to proceed. Will nodded, feeling oddly shy, the sensation of being exposed hadn’t quite left him. 

He turned his head, looking out through the windows. It was dark, he could hardly see a thing, but he imagined what the view was like during the daytime.Green everywhere. Tall trees with overgrown foliage that had never been trimmed once. It was bright and peaceful and overwhelmingly warm, despite the chill of summer entering autumn. 

There was no cold white walls. No chemical odors. No cold floors that made his feet ache. This was their bedroom, their new home for the time. Hannibal’s hands were clinical but they weren’t covered in latex. They were familiar and dark and his. 

Hannibal gently rubbed at his thyroids, tipping Will’s head back slightly, then moved on to his chest. Prodding at him with sure, firm strokes. He didn’t squeeze him or attempt to try what he had done accidentally in bed. 

What little anxiety Will held slowly unthawed and he began to relax just a bit. Hannibal may not have his license anymore, but he was a capable physician. 

Hannibal leaned back on his knees, resting his hands on Will’s. 

“Everything seems to be in order. Though your areolas are a few shades darker. I had assumed it was from your tan, but this is most likely in alignment with lactation. Nothing life threatening,” Hannibal assured Will. If he had been wearing gloves, he would have snapped them off and tossed them in the bin without looking. 

The word ‘ _lactation_ ’ rang uncomfortably in Will’s ear. He ignored it. Pushed it away for another time. He was too tired for that particular conversation and for any conversation in general. 

Still. 

“Did you actually expect to find something?” 

“It was more for your sake. And well,” Hannibal averted his eyes. It was horribly attractive and Will’s dick twitched, reminding him again of what had been interrupted barely thirty minutes ago. “I was curious.” 

Will smiled slightly. Endeared to the tipping point of a grin. “Truly shocking, Doctor.” 

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled and his already tilted head tilted even more, gazing up at Will with such adoration that grew into an endless stream of warmth and good and heart shaking want. It made Will lightheaded, wishing he could wrap Hannibal up and keep him from the world. 

Hannibal’s hands slid up from Will’s knees to the meaty parts of his thighs just underneath his robe, pushing the fabric up and up. Fingertips digging in and squeezing him tight. 

“May I?” Hannibal’s lips were red and wet, still swollen from earlier. The temptation of what he knew Hannibal could do with his tongue and those lips was rife with promise. 

Will shook his head. 

“Too tired. I’d probably pass out half way through. Do you want me to--?” He gestured to Hannibal with a quick nod to his lower half. Unsure of what he was offering, but knowing he would like to make it up to Hannibal for interrupting them and ruining the mood. 

“Perhaps it would be better if we both had some sleep. We can discuss this in the morning.” 

Will groaned. “I can’t wait.” 

They settled into bed. Hannibal pulled the blankets and the new sheets up around them, curling himself around Will with his hand resting on his stomach and his head on his chest, long hair lightly tickling at Will’s skin. His chest hair reminded Will of his dogs on winter nights when they would all sleep huddled together with him on his bed. 

Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, pushed his leg between Hannibal’s thighs and rested his toes against the warmth of Hannibal’s calves. Played with his hair. He would be a sweating mess in twenty minutes swaddled in Hannibal and thick cotton and wool. 

It was nice to be held like this. It was nice to hold Hannibal like this. 

He wanted a dog or seven. 

“Tell me,” Hannibal said, lips pressed against Will’s chest. “Did you find any pleasure in it?”

 _A bit too much_ , Will thought. 

- 

Will dozed, unable to fully sleep. His mind was buzzing. Thinking of everything but _the one thing_ which was once again building pressure in his chest. Now that he was able to recognize it for what it was, he ignored it as fully as one can ignore something in which they are completely focused on.

He didn’t want to go to the lake in his mind or the chapel or their boat’s cabin. He hadn’t gone back to the many rooms he or Hannibal had created in months. There was no need for them. 

Right now, lying in bed and watching the way Hannibal’s face twitched slightly while he slept, Will needed to stay present. He had a conversation to avoid.

Instead of the mind palace, Will kept himself busy with other thoughts. 

He wondered about Jack and the likelihood of him still being employed by the FBI and chasing after a scent long gone cold. 

Alana and Margot and their child, hoping idly Hannibal would never catch a whiff of either of their perfumes. 

He shifted to renovating their new house, the repairs that needed to be done. The rotting deck out back was at the top of his list. Maybe he could build a dog house, one that could fit a small pack. 

The kitchen, too. They could buy a barbecue while the stove was out of commission. 

Will kept his mind evasive between the moments where he shut his eyes and a few minutes passed with the oddly nice soundtrack of Hannibal’s soft snores, his breath puffing hotly against him. It was soothing making plans for this new house and turning it into something more permanent after a solid year of temporary apartments and safe houses. Flitting in and out of them quickly without nostalgia for what they’d just left. 

Will traced the veins on the back of Hannibal’s hands, running his fingers along his stark tendons with one eye on the clock. He waited until it was three in the morning before slowly lifting Hannibal’s hand off of his waist and untangling his legs from Hannibal’s. It was an arduous process with his limbs wanting to go back to the warm bed and the warmer man inside of it and his chest feeling undoubtedly _full_. 

He crept around the room as quietly as he could, taking a few of his warmer shirts to layer and a pair of pants to change into in the bathroom down the hall. 

He stopped, backtracked, and grabbed a pair of socks as well. 

Will closed the bathroom door slowly, a week ago he had gone around the house and oiled all the door hinges and now the door slid quietly back into its frame without a hint of a squeal. Will let out a breath. 

The lights were bright, Will rubbed at his eyes, squinting until he caught the sight of himself in the large mirror. Will paused, he set his clothes on the counter and really looked at his chest. He was calmer now, the idea having settled on less muddy foundation now that he’s had some time to think. 

His nipples were swollen, which wasn’t too unusual for him, they always were after Hannibal had played with them. 

‘ _Predilection for nipple play_ ’ rang loudly in his head.

It was harder now to think of it as simply as liking to be touched there--often and with rough hands and sharp teeth. He couldn’t stop the insistent thought and very real fact that there was actual milk. 

He reached up to touch himself. Maybe just a small pinch to see what would come out. In the bright light of the bathroom and the beginning of another day, it was as if he had never done this before. He was another person. 

He caught his eye in the mirror, his hand faltered, beginning to tremble. Will turned from the mirror and dressed without getting distracted again. 

He was quick and quiet. Becoming overly cautious when he heard something creak. It could have been a floorboard. Hannibal shifting his position in bed and reaching out to him, waking when he wasn’t there.Or maybe--hopefully--it was simply the house settling. It was an older and noisy home. 

He held his breath waiting for another sound. 

Nothing. 

He zipped up his pants. 

On his phone he typed out a message for Hannibal. He w as going to the lake nearby. He needed some time to think. Alone. Mentioning, briefly in a long winding ramble, he would need time to think because he had not been expecting this or was ever expecting his to happen and Hannibal should be able to understand this. 

It was a long message and Will’s eyes had grown cross by the end of it. He reviewed what he wrote, wincing. 

Anyone with a psychology degree would read this and spend the next few months dissecting every word. Hannibal would just have to read it once and know every corner and niche where the meanings were hidden, with questions ready and loaded to throw at Will and expect to be handed back an answer. 

In this moment, sore and tired and with a body that was, apparently, still changing without his consent Will really didn’t want to be asked more questions. 

He deleted his message and typed,

‘ _Going fishing. Be back by dinner. Need some time to think_.’ 

Direct to the point and vague. He would send it later once he reached the lake. It was only a thirty minute drive and Hannibal wouldn’t be up for another two hours, giving Will a head start. 

Will tucked his phone into his back pocket. He’d grab his shoes on the way out and take the truck, roll it down the driveway in neutral. He opened the door and there was Hannibal dressed in only his boxers and a too blank expression making him look more vulnerable than he had any right to look at three in the morning. Which was probably the problem. 

Guilt rushed through Will. 

“Here,” He pulled his phone out and shoved it into Hannibal’s hands. Hannibal held it up delicately between his fingers as he read the short message. His eyes going minutely up and down as he reread it multiple times, no longer expressionless. 

Now the message felt too short. Eleven words. That’s all he’d written as an excuse. Eleven lousy words. He should have kept the longer version. 

Hannibal primly handed back his phone, shoulders set in a stern line. 

“Let me pack you a lunch,” Hannibal said. Despite how awake he looked, surely even more so after Will’s note, his voice was full of sleep. Croaking out more rounded syllables through a molasses accent.

Will nodded, following Hannibal to the kitchen trying to think of something to say and feeling like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out in the middle of the night and knowing he was doing just that. It was a remarkably shitty feeling. 

Hannibal was clinical as he made Will lunch. A turkey sandwich with homemade whole grain bread Hannibal had baked earlier in the week with the freshly cut turkey from the butcher. The passion he usually displayed so openly while he cooked was replaced with distance and an orbit of chilled apathy. 

It felt awful seeing him like this. The worst Will had felt in a very long time.  

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you,” Will tried. Hannibal didn’t look up. He hadn’t looked at Will once. 

Hannibal said something in another language. Biting and hard. Upset. 

Will circled the kitchen island and placed his hand on Hannibal’s lower back, below the Verger brand. His skin was cold, the heater hadn’t turned on just yet. 

“Come on, talk to me.” 

Hannibal once again said something in a language Will couldn’t place. Perhaps it was in the Baltic area. Will wasn’t sure. 

“I know you can speak English.” 

Hannibal scoffed, spoke a few more lines, each getting a little more sarcastic sounding as he went. His hands moving gracefully to cut Will’s sandwich in half with hard slice of his butcher knife that echoed through the entire house. 

He was efficient as always and soon Will’s supposed lunch was neatly packed and ready and he’d even prepared a morning pot of tea for himself. He had set a single mug on the counter, closing the cupboard slowly, but making sure the door thudded with a firm and unquestionable thump. 

He was surprised when Hannibal didn’t then toss him the car keys and open the front door for him. 

Will tried again, unwilling to not be stubborn nor to unroot himself from the kitchen floor. 

He patted his stomach, “I think I need to start cutting back on the desserts. I’m starting to get a little too big.” 

Hannibal didn’t look up from the kettle, but he did return to speaking English, “Nonsense.” 

Will gratefully accepted the one word victory and tried to lighten the abysmal mood between them. 

“What do you think about getting a dog?”

“It would not be allowed in our bed,” Hannibal said, finally looking up. His eyes were shiny and glazed and the lights from the kitchen made them glisten. Will swallowed thickly, moving to squeeze Hannibal’s hip. “Before you leave, may I have a kiss, Will?” 

Hannibal said his name slowly, savoring it. Eyes latched onto Will’s lips, lowered and already missing him. 

“You’re not going to ask me to stay?”

Hannibal looked away and busied himself with neatly picking at the parchment wrapped around Will’s sandwich. 

“You want to clear your mind and it cannot be done with me around, so no. I won’t ask you to stay when you don’t want to.” 

Will cursed. 

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he blurted out. 

Hannibal tilted his head, accepting his inelegant apology, his long hair fell over his eyes. Will reached up and brushed the unruly strands behind his ear. Hannibal nuzzled against his palm, eyes fluttering shut. 

“I dislike seeing you so upset,” Hannibal said.

"I'm not upset. Just," Will paused. Trying to find the word for exactly what he was feeling. It was difficult. He didn't know what _it_ was. He settled for something in the general area. "Unsure, maybe."  

Hannibal nodded. The kettle whistled and turned itself off. 

“Are you concerned over your masculinity?” 

Will laughed. “On the list of things I care about, my masculinity doesn’t even crack the top fifty.” 

“Then is it the physicality of it? Your body changing itself without your consent?” 

Will circled the kitchen island and sat heavily on one of the stools. 

“I didn’t want to talk about this. Not right now. That was the whole point of me leaving early while you were sleeping, so I could avoid this.” 

Hannibal didn’t look pleased and Will knew his own face wasn’t sparkling with sunshine either. He changed the subject, unwilling to let Hannibal be as sour as he was. 

“We really need to get a new water heater.” 

“I’ll call a plumber later today.” 

"Don't waste your money. I can do it." 

“My evasive little handyman,” Hannibal sighed with a fond twitch of his lips. 

“I got the overalls and everything,” Will said proudly, cocking his eyebrow. Hannibal enjoyed Will’s ratty and stained work clothes. At the brief mention of them he cheered up considerably. 

It was quiet for a moment, the silence no longer chilly nor strained. Comfortable. Hannibal made his tea and offered it to Will. He declined.  

“I won’t bring this up again, not today, but I would like to say one thing,” Hannibal held up his finger, shushing Will’s protests. His eyes gazed over, a look of giddiness and such pure jubilance spread over his features. It was the look he wore when remembering a particularly savory meal. His finger traced the rim of his mug teasingly. “In all my life, Will, I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful 

Will clutched at the counter for balance. He shivered, heat flooded him in thick red waves covering him all the way down to the heels of his socks.  

Hannibal must have licked his hands clean when Will had fled to the bathroom. 

“That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.” 

“No it isn’t. You just enjoy being difficult, not that I mind. Besides,” Hannibal grinned, dirty and with just a hint of teeth. Will could practically feel Hannibal’s mouth on him. “This isn’t the first time I’ve said these particular words to you.” 

It wasn’t, but it still didn’t make the words any less potent. Hannibal had a lewd habit of moaning and serenading Will on the variety of ways he tasted.  

Will cleared his throat, blushing. “Well.” 

Hannibal preened, aware and very much enjoying the effect he had on Will. His dour mood seemed to have lifted completely. Transgressions put behind them. 

He set his mug down, circled the kitchen island to stand in front of Will. “It’s early and you didn’t sleep. It’s time for you to go back to bed I think.” 

He nudged Will to stand and to follow him back down the hall to their bedroom, one plank of wood creaking under his step. He helped Will take off his many layers of clothes, only slowing down once or twice to touch him. 

“How do you know I didn’t sleep. You were asleep all night,” Will said. 

“I’m very perceptive. As are you.” 

Will grumbled. “That’s not weird.” 

Hannibal was indignant as he hung Will’s shirts back onto their hangers, placing them in the closet. 

“Says the man who snuck out of bed to leave his poor other-half to wake up all alone and cold and worried he’d been abandoned.”

“Ha ha,” Will said flatly. “I wish I’d realized how dramatic you were earlier on. Drama Queen Lecter has a nice ring to it.” 

Hannibal came in close, tilted Will’s chin down and pecked him softly on his forehead. His lips lingered. 

“Then you would be my Drama King.” 

“Damn right,” Will tugged at Hannibal’s arm. “Now tuck me in.” 

- 

It was well into the afternoon when Will woke up. He kicked off the sheets, feeling clammy and too hot.  

He felt full. He pushed it aside. Focused on getting dressed. 

In the kitchen tote bags covered the island counter. Will peered into a few of them curious to see what Hannibal had bought. He started to unpack one that was filled with vegetables. 

“I didn’t hear you leave.” 

“I tried to wake you, but you were obstinate in wanting to sleep. I left a note on the counter,” Hannibal held up a pad of paper where he’d written ‘ _Gone to the store_ ’ and the time he’d left. He had beautiful hand writing and Will knew he’d sneak the note into his pocket at some point later on, wanting to save what Hannibal had written to him. Making up for a time when he didn’t. 

Hannibal made him sentimental.  

Will moved onto the next bag and stopped. Reaching inside he pulled out what was undoubtedly a breast pump. He stared at it, unable to form words. Hannibal continued unloading the other bags. Completely oblivious or perhaps completely focused on Will’s reaction. 

After a moment Will managed, “You got me a breast pump.”

“It seemed practical,” Hannibal said, avoiding Will’s eyes and bustling around the kitchen. Will’s lips thinned. 

“This is a small town, people will start to talk.” 

“Which is why I drove over an hour to our neighboring town,” Hannibal folded the empty tote bag and placed it on the growing pile. “Really, Will. You underestimate me.” 

Will shook his head. 

“No, no. No. You bought me a breast pump, Hannibal,” Will’s voice cracked and he didn’t care. 

He tried to picture himself using it. Then he pictured Hannibal using it on him. 

“I can’t believe how easy it is to read you,” Will gave Hannibal an unimpressed look. His motive was glaring and Will wished he could refute that it didn’t send a nice thrill through him. “You just want to watch me use this thing.” 

“It will build up in your chest causing you discomfort if you're unwilling to release it yourself or allow me. This would be the best solution. More clinical, but effective.” 

Will stared at him. He was telling the truth but there was more. There was always more. "And?" 

Hannibal didn’t shrug, but it was a not so subtle _you’re right but I won’t admit it_ sort of movement.  

“It’s also an excellent way to measure how much you produce and to cleanly preserve your milk.” 

_Your milk_. Will’s entire body throbbed.

“Preserve?” 

“If you agreed, I was thinking of using it in a recipe. Perhaps for a dessert or maybe something simple like adding it to a cup of tea. There are many possibilities, Will.” 

“Christ,” Will set the pump down, staring at it and all that it meant. He wasn’t sure what made him harder, the utter embarrassment at what his body was now capable of doing or the striking image of Hannibal slowly gulping down a full glass that he’d milked out of Will. 

Hannibal was staring at him, studying him. Will shifted from foot to foot in his scrutiny.  

“Have you tasted it?” 

“No--“ Will started, but he realized he had. A small innocent lick. Not enough to fully taste, but enough to sate his curiosity for the moment. It was hard to admit, the words getting lodged in his throat. “I did. Once. I hardly tasted much of anything though.” 

Hannibal nodded. He moved to stand beside him. Tucked Will’s hair behind his ear, keeping his touch light enough to send a sharp shiver through him. 

“We’ll have to change that, won’t we.” 

It wasn’t a question. Will didn’t expect it to be. 

- 

Will spent the rest of the day, only a few hours of sunlight really, in a bit of a sleepy daze. He read for as long as he could keep his eyes open. Listened to Hannibal play his harpsichord from the couch, head turned to watch the way Hannibal’s fingers moved gracefully along the keys. He’d had it shipped from overseas. Will had been surprised when Jack hadn’t been the one to deliver it. 

Mostly he lied on his back and tried to ignore the pressure in his chest again. It was an incessant presence, always pulling Will’s mind back to it, reminding him with a heavy hand that something would have to be done and soon. 

Hannibal, thankfully, kept to his word and didn’t ask him anymore questions or bring the subject up. 

Dinner was a variety of leftovers, presented prettily as if they had never been reheated in the oven. Will ate lightly, a bit off from sleeping so much and yet he was still tired. He had yawned sporadically throughout the day and many times while they ate. Hannibal, he knew, was seconds from carrying back to bed. 

There was a promise of a thrilling dessert, though, that perked him up.  

"After your exercises,” Hannibal said as he cleared the dishes from the table. 

Will sighed. 

His morning routine had been interrupted and he hadn’t done the stretches Hannibal had taught him months ago. Rotating his arms he noticed he was stiffer than yesterday.

The thought of moving his uncomfortably full chest was unappealing. He slumped a bit with his elbows on the table. “I think I’ll take today off.” 

Hannibal looked at him sternly then began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Will didn’t say anything until Hannibal reached his stomach and Will could see a good portion of his chest hair. 

“Not that I mind where this is going, but what are you doing?”

“I’m going to do them with you. You can’t afford to miss a day, Will. You’ve been stabbed and shot multiple times. I won’t even begin to go into the damage the bluff caused you,” Hannibal shrugged off his shirt and folded it, setting it on the back of the chair. "We can't have you growing stiff in your old age." 

He crossed his arms, waiting expectantly for Will to unslouch himself and get up. Will waited, enjoying Hannibal’s impatience and counted the seconds by the minute tick in Hannibal’s brow, then stood up. 

It wouldn’t take so long. The time would fly by and Will had the extra bonus of getting to watch Hannibal work up a sweat.

"Is that how you see our future?” Will said as they walked to the patio. It was cool outside and there was a nice breeze. “Growing old together?” 

Hannibal tied his hair up in a messy bun. 

"It's one of many that may happen and one that I'm also quite fond of."

"That's actually really nice." 

Hannibal smiled. "I thought so, too." 

- 

Will stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, clutching his chest. Gingerly he took his shirt off. The fabric rubbing harshly against his nipples causing him to flinch. He dropped his shirt on the floor. 

His chest hurt. He felt blown up and swollen to the point of eruption. With shaking and tired hands, as gently as he could he prodded at his chest. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He pinched lightly at his areola.  

 _That_ hurt.  

Will dropped his hands, clutched at the counter of the vanity as he bent over in pain, trying to catch his breath. He must have made some sort of noise because Hannibal was by his side, hair tousled from sleep, but wide awake and alert. He had his hands up and read to help, concern and worry wrinkling his face. 

Hannibal bit by bit unfolded him with kind hands, looking him up and down. Examining him. 

His eyes zeroed in on Will’s chest. Red and swollen. Will felt a fresh layer of shame enfold him. He didn’t want Hannibal to see him like this, but there was no other way. 

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal sighed, bringing him to his chest. Will buried his face in Hannibal’s neck, happy to have a moment to gather himself. “Are you in pain?” 

Will nodded. Voice muffled by Hannibal’s hair, “I feel like I’m about to burst.” 

“Let me help you,” Hannibal held him by his shoulders and parted them so he could see Will’s face. “Please?” 

- 

Hannibal laced their fingers together and led him to the kitchen. Will expected him to pull out the pump from wherever he had hidden it. Instead, he chose their biggest measuring glass and gave it to Will to hold.  

“Sit,” He patted the stool. Will sat. “We’ve waited too long I’m afraid. This will hurt quite a bit, but you’ll feel much better in the end. Are you ready?” 

Will wasn’t and he was fairly sure he would never be. He nodded. 

“Hold the cup to your right side,” Hannibal said softly. Will did as he was told, hands shaking, preparing himself for the pain. He’d been through worse, he reminded himself. It didn’t make it any easier.

Hannibal covered his hands with his own. They were big and enveloped him easily, it was comforting. 

“It will be all right, Will. I swear,” He whispered in his ear. Will believed him. 

Hannibal stood behind Will, sliding his hands around Will’s chest and gently began kneading the muscles and fat-- _breasts_ , the word sticking to the roof of his mouth--on both sides. The pain was stinging, but the fact that these were Hannibal’s blunt fingers pushing and pulling at him made the pain shift into something nicer, more bearable.  

Slowly Hannibal began to rub his nipples, rolling the hard nubs between his fingers with a soft touch that grew in firmness. Stroking him in delicate small jerks that caused Will to bite at his bottom lip. Will panted, his breaths already shallow and a gleam of sweat prickling at his brow as he squirmed in his seat, wanting to push Hannibal away while bringing him closer. 

His gripped the measuring cup with white knuckles, pushing it harder against his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the agonized wail building momentum in his throat. 

“You’re doing so good, Will,” Hannibal said, his breath tickling the backside of his ear. He was attempting to soothe him. Lulling him into relaxing and he tried to do just that, but his body was strung tightly and Hannibal didn’t stop with his hands and soon enough milk began to come out of Will in a harsh spray that echoed in the large empty glass.  

The sound surrounded him, bouncing off the walls and back and it was all Will could hear over his own breathing. He regretted not putting any music on or getting the radio to muffle the noises.  

Hannibal wanted to hear him, no distractions. No outside stimulation. Just Will and Hannibal. 

The pain lessened as Hannibal milked his right breast, the glass filling quickly. The growing weight of it in his hands was surprising. He had no idea he could hold so much inside of him and there was still his left side to be done. 

Hannibal wasted no time, he didn’t pause to soothe his now raw nipple, he began to work his left side more intensely.  

“Half way there,” Hannibal said. Will shifted the glass in his grip and held it to his left side, angling it better to catch the oncoming stream. Hannibal milked him quickly with one hand, his other still on the right side. Softly petting him with small circular rubs. 

The pain had almost vanished along with the pressure. Will’s chest was sore and pleasantly empty. 

Hannibal finished. His hands left Will completely to pluck the measuring cup from Will. Will shifted in his seat, catching his breath. He wiped his hair out of his eyes, his sweat slicking it back and out of the way. He disliked the abrupt chill and the lack of Hannibal’s hands on him. 

It was over.  

“About two cups,” Hannibal was both impressed and pleased. “Would you like to taste it?”

Will looked at the glass. The creamy white inside of it. It was a warm white. He had made that. It was once inside of his body. It was a part of himself.  

He nodded.  

He was heady with the sudden lack of pressure, endorphins rushing through him and making his entire body sing. His toes curled clumsily on the floor and against the legs of the stool. He eyed the large glass again.  

Hannibal held the glass to Will’s lips, watching him and entirely focused on Will’s reaction.  

Will didn’t know what to expect having only had a few droplets, but the taste wasn’t bad. It was sweet and lighter than cow’s milk. He closed his eyes and drank two mouthfuls before pulling away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste lingered on his tongue.  

“Do you like it?” 

“It’s good. Different,” Will said. It felt odd to say and odder to think about. But it was the truth. He liked it.

Hannibal lit up, smiling.  

“May I?” Hannibal held up the glass, gesturing to what was left. Will nodded, throat going dry.  

He sat on the stool, unable to look away and watched entranced as Hannibal slowly drank the rest of Will’s milk, eye closed in bliss. His Adam’s apple standing obscene in the long stretch of his throat as he gulped large mouthfuls. 

He licked his lips afterwards. Will was happy he was sitting down. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so provocative in his life than Hannibal Lecter enjoying his milk.  

It was too much and too perfect and Will wanted desperately to be full again so he could have Hannibal suck the milk right out of him.

Will stood, knocking the stool to the ground and cupped the sides of Hannibal’s face, kissing him thoroughly and licking the sweet taste of his own milk from Hannibal’s welcoming mouth. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 got a little out of hand and long and had to be split in two, so now there are four chapters.
> 
> Thank you everyone for the amazing feedback!

_Open and honest communication_ was what Molly had insisted on and Will had tried to give her. It had come with the amendment of knowingly not asking certain questions which would lead to answers she wouldn’t like no matter how much she said she was _fine with it, really_ or answers Will simply couldn’t say to her. Not to her face, not back then. 

It had stung for both of them and it lead to a subjective honesty and acceptable omissions that came in the form of pregnant silences. Not really lying. Neither one of them wanted to air this batch of dirty laundry. 

After so much honesty over so many years leaving Will ripped open, he’d been content with this new shift. He needed to scab over.

For three years Will didn’t say Hannibal’s name and that sort of disregard for reality had been welcomed between them. It had been fine. Good. Perfectly acceptable.

But it had built up. Rotten and bright and _there_. 

Months ago Will had told Hannibal everything. It was somewhere off the coast of Mexico or Antarctica or Ganymede because that’s what it felt like or maybe their ship had never existed and it was in some backwoods cabin. Will had been too high off the drugs to tell his own hands apart.

Chiyoh was somewhere--he could never pin point her location and he was only somewhat sure she had actually been there looking back on it, and if she had been there in that moment he hadn’t cared if she was listening or not or if she would tattle on him later. His brain had been fuzzy and the morphine in his arm was the best thing in existence and he should have been knocked out like Hannibal on the bed next to him. But he hadn’t been. 

Will had been very awake and spent his time staring at the wood paneling on the ceiling. Faux wood with faux grain. Lost himself to the waves rocking and trying to get him to just give in and sleep like he was meant to, but in that moment he’d rebelled. 

He had stared at Hannibal’s bruised and beaten and painfully vulnerable unconscious face like a steel ram that met an already splintered door, weak and ready to be busted through. Waiting for it. His mouth ran from him. 

The words that had been building away in Will’s head came rushing out, they were watery and undignified. 

He told Hannibal about Molly. She was sweet and funny and he once made her a meal Hannibal had made for him years ago and afterwards he’d felt sick with it. Like he’d wronged everyone. 

About the dogs. His voice going high and warbly around Buster’s name. For years everything had been kept under iron control and in that brief moment it all forced itself out into the open. A lot of it inane and some cruel until he either passed out or just couldn’t talk anymore. He didn’t remember which.

Hannibal may have been awake. He wasn’t sure about that either. The medication had been effective and great. The absolute best. 

Will had experienced a high from his honesty. Peeling the scab off and digging his fingers in till he bled it all out. A relief. 

Lying in bed now with the heater rattling, metal clanking against metal in the kitchen with the scent of maple syrup drifting appealingly towards him, Will missed those years of open and honest communication he’d shared with Hannibal and wondered where it had run off to. He loathed his new hesitancy and felt shamed for his shame. 

There were eggshells on the ground and Will was unsure who had put them there in the first place and if either of them would ever be able to clean it all up. Who would be the one to reach for the broom and the dustpan first.

He was sore and tired and used up, chest aching in that particular way that used to mean Hannibal had played him with expert touches. Mostly, he was tired. And warm and wanted to be warmer and get cooked through. Will pulled the blankets tight around his body, trapping the heat and preventing the sun and hopefully the world outside from breaching his cocoon. Half dozing and half stubbornly awake and half trying to not think about the conversations that were looming and coming in as a side with breakfast. 

Hannibal was humming. 

Will stretched his hand to the empty space where Hannibal had slept. Curled his fingers around the wrinkles of the sheet. 

It had been a long night. He could still taste milk, though he wanted to believe he was imagining it. Surely between Hannibal and the toothpaste the taste would have faded by now. But he knew it was there. Strong and prevalent through the grime of a full night’s sleep. 

Last night he had practically passed out as soon as his head had touched the pillow. He hadn’t woken once, though he remembered Hannibal’s fingers combing through his hair. 

The whole experience had been more than nice. 

Will focused on Hannibal’s footsteps. Even. Slightly padded. He was wearing socks. His feet tended to get cold, often taking the opportunity to slide between Will’s calves to defrost his toes with the half mumbled excuse of disliking the cold weather. Will would always make a show of grumbling, but he didn’t mind. He liked the easy comfort they could find in each other. 

Healing and discovering the mundane was something they would be able to share and find joy in had been a relief. A bit of nostalgia and newness that still managed to feel fresh and exciting even now. 

 _That’s what this is supposed to be_ , Will thought, _an exercise in the domestic_. 

Or maybe not so much an exercise anymore. Simply the way they were, however simple they could be together. 

The footsteps stopped. Will shimmied the blanket down just enough to peer up at Hannibal. He stood in the doorway, a wooden tray in his hands watching him.

“I was worried I’d have to wake you,” Hannibal said. 

“This is different.” Hannibal was in his robe, hair tied back into a ponytail that had probably been much neater before he cooked. On any other day he would be dressed and already in the middle of whatever project had caught his eye. 

He’d slept in, then, and rolled out of bed to make breakfast, skipping over his morning ablutions. 

He looked nice. Comfortable and cozy. 

“I thought a shift in our routine would be good. It felt appropriate,” Hannibal set the tray down on the bed.Two mugs of coffee and two plates of waffles smeared with butter, one delicately drizzled with syrup and the other practically drowning in it. 

It looked good. His stomach growled. He hoped the blankets muffled the noise.

“Shift in our routine,” Will repeated slowly, mouth full of cotton. Last night was still all too present. Hot tongues and warm milk and Hannibal’s hands on his chest--big and masculine and calloused and so fucking good. He shivered and buried his head back into the pillows. “If you’re trying to sweeten me up I’m going to--” 

Will lost himself for a moment. The pillows, the sheets, the entire room, his life smelled like Hannibal. He probably smelled like Hannibal. It was distracting. 

Like ripples, Will could feel Hannibal’s amusement prod repeatedly at him, becoming more and more fond. “--I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be fun or good or anything you can draw about later.” 

“That is impossible.” Hannibal sat on the bed and settled against the pillows all without disturbing the tray once. He lightly pinched Will’s ear. “Eat before your food gets cold.”

Will waited a moment, both wanting to test Hannibal’s patience and to keep the absence of any turbulent conversations, postponing the inevitable for just a bit. 

When the corner of Hannibal’s mouth started to twitch Will untangled himself from the blankets, the cool air hitting his bare chest making him uncomfortably aware of having gone to bed shirtless and the fact that already his body was reacting to the contrast of warm and wonderful blankets and of reality. 

The soreness of his chest was striking. He consciously stopped himself from touching and attempting to soothe the ache, not wanting to call attention to that particular area. But in his slight pause he knew he had done so anyways. There were very few things he could get passed Hannibal, fewer when they were so close.

Hannibal said nothing though. Looking at Will warmly he brought the tray closer to sit between them, eyes not straying to his flushed and pinked chest. Rather, he was taking Will in as a whole before starting on his own plate. He was giving Will whatever privacy he could and Will appreciated this sudden good willed gesture. 

Will ate slowly, enjoying the food and focusing wholly on the taste of buttermilk and maple syrup. It wasn’t until he had finished his last bite that Hannibal deemed him settled and appeased--the moment appropriate to begin the conversation. 

What did it say about him that he needed to be fed before Hannibal even attempting to engage him? He found he didn’t care. Later, he would. 

“You slept well?” 

“Like a man who's been sucked dry.” Will closed his eyes and wondered what was wrong with him not even for the first time since he woke up this morning. Hannibal’s eyebrows, light and thin as they were, arched in surprise. “That was horrible.”

“Since you brought it up,” Will groaned which on the tail end turned into a pathetic whine that clung to his throat. Hannibal’s lips thinned. ”Is it really so bad to talk to me?" 

“Of course not. You know I--” Will stopped. Trying to compact what he felt into words was not something he had difficulty with, at least not now. The shame he used to carry had been gone for so long it felt odd and horribly familiar to feel it creeping back. He tried again after taking a breath. “Thank you for breakfast. And for last night." 

“Your welcome.” 

“I like talking to you, I just don’t like talking about--” Will pointed to his chest quickly in the vaguest of motions. “--this.” 

“I have, shockingly, gathered as much,” Hannibal said dryly. “How's your chest? 

“Peachy,” Will said, earning him a very flat look. “Okay, a bit sore.” 

“In a bad way?” 

“A different way, I think. I’m not used to it.” _Not sure I’ll get used to it_. Will glared at the streaks of syrup leftover on his plate, his face was growing hot. His whole body was warming and he was surprised his blush didn’t illuminate twin handprints because he could still feel Hannibal cupping him. 

“I realize what’s happening to your body is unexpected and difficult for you to talk about,” Hannibal said. It was the same tone he’d used in his therapy sessions and Will couldn’t help but both bristle and feel somewhat comforted by the nostalgia of it. “Though I would hope with me it would be less stressful for you.” 

Will snorted then coughed. He sipped at his coffee to clear his throat and to give himself enough time to stumble upon an answer. “ _Unexpected_ is an incredibly delicate way to put it.” 

Hannibal was non-plussed. Will became sheepish. 

“If you truly dislike this so much, it’s a simple matter to stop the process of milk production,” Hannibal stacked the plates neatly on the tray, then placed the forks on top perfectly parallel to each other. It was something he did without much thought, one of the many and less lethal of his quirks. But the fidgeting of his fingers was something entirely different. 

Hannibal had been a man who had complete control for so long, it would not have been odd for anyone other than him. For Hannibal, Will knew, it was thrilling to stumble for the first time. To not know what to do with his hands and to fully engage in the mystery of it. Absolutely thrilling. 

Will held his breath, watching Hannibal align the utensils and the handle of his mug again and again.

“It would require a procedure. Nothing too risky, of course.” Hannibal finally said, peaking behind the curtain of his hair to see Will’s reaction. He was being hesitant, demure almost in his suggestion. Borderline coy. 

Will didn’t know what to think.

Surgery under Hannibal was synonymous with risk. The phantom cut of a knife gutting him pinned Will into stillness. He looked up and watched Hannibal watching him. He was as still as Will, both of them collectively holding their breaths. Waiting for something to happen. Will was unsure of what that was. 

“You would do it, then?” Will said, breathless. The operation wouldn’t be clinical or simple at all. Will clutched at the blankets, his heart beating in his throat. He knew exactly what Hannibal was thinking.

“If that’s the choice you made, yes. A doctor may ask too many questions, be too perceptive.” 

“And that’s another conversation.” 

“One we’ll have to brace ourselves for eventually.” Hannibal sounded wistful. Will wondered if he was picturing Dolarhyde or Will on his back and vulnerable to him, willingly placing himself under the knife. It was a heady image for them both. “But not today.” 

Will nodded. “What about you? What do you want?” 

“This isn’t about me.” Hannibal’s hands were folded neatly on his lap. Perfectly still, but rigid. Will watched him run through every possible answer he could give, looking for the perfect one that was honest and would calm Will’s nerves. 

Which at this point was an ambitious task. He was fairly certain he could light a fire with how hot his face was burning. 

“No, it’s not, but it does effect you just as much,” Will placed his hand over Hannibal’s and felt the way his fingers twitched under his touch. “And don’t try and hide that the idea of consuming me or--or _operating_ on me isn’t something you haven’t thought about in detail,” Will said. Hannibal smiled and Will squeezed his hand. “You love it, there’s no point in pretending you don’t.”

“I don’t want to cause you distress for my own desires. The idea of you in pain--” 

“You like seeing me in pain.” 

“I dislike seeing you in pain I have no control over.”

Will softened, lacing their fingers together. 

“It didn’t hurt so bad. I’ve been through worse,” Will laughed lightly. “On multiple occasions.”

“You’re very resilient.”

“With lots of calluses.”

“Last night you were close to having a panic attack." 

“Well,” Will shrugged. “It’s kind of a new thing for me, this whole lactating business,” Will said. The word _lactating_ felt clunky in his mouth and he could hardly get it out, tripping over it, but he felt better for saying it out loud.

It was an odd truth. An odd couple of days that went with an odd life, he supposed. 

For a long moment Hannibal watched him, maybe waiting for more or he simply wanted to look and keep looking. Will focused on rubbing Hannibal’s knuckles, following the ridges and tracing the veins.

“Did you enjoy last night?” Hannibal said softly.

Will nodded, slight and quick. “Yeah.”

“Would you like for this to continue?” 

“What other choice do I have?” 

Hannibal gripped his hand tightly, clinging to him the best he could. “You always have options,” he said. “Do you trust me with this?” 

 _This_ being so many things.

“As much as I trust myself,” Will sighed. He leaned his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, Hannibal’s grip on his hand loosened, but stayed firm. His energy left him in one big swoop, he felt tired and exposed, rubbed raw and ready to go back to sleep. 

Maybe Hannibal would take a nap with him. Will hoped he would. 

“We’ve been blessed by the unexpected many times, Will,” Hannibal kissed his temple and lingered. “Perhaps it would be better to try and view this as something good.” 

Blessed or lucky or fucked. Will nodded, eyes closed and almost asleep leaning his weight on Hannibal. His stomach was full, he was a little sore, and his was building in pressure. He wanted to lie down and sleep until he was too hot and covered in his and Hannibal’s sweat. 

“Stay with me? The dishes can wait a while.”

Hannibal wrapped his arm around Will’s shoulder, hugging him. “Our exercises?”

Will shook his head, barely awake. “Later.” 

Whatever this turned into, he was curious to find out.

- 

It took Will fifteen minutes to start the truck. He’d bought it a week and a half ago for five hundred dollars and was still learning what made it tick. It was their second car and at the time he’d felt compelled to explain to Hannibal that ‘ _everyone who lives up here owns a truck_ ’ even though Hannibal hadn’t asked or complained about the state of the car or the amount of money--small amount as it was in comparison to everything else. 

Handing over five hundred dollars in cash brought up old frugal habits and the feelings that went with them.

The hardware store would take them forty minutes to get to. It was pleasantly chilly outside, enough for Will to leave his jacket slung over the seat and not be too cold. The brittle air reminded him of Wolf Trap.

Hannibal rubbed the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, gauging the softness of it before letting go, seeming to approve. It was his softest button-down and didn’t cause any uncomfortable friction against his tender chest. 

Hannibal was bundled in a scarf and one of his heavier faux-fur lined jackets. 

He looked strikingly ordinary.

“I don’t know why you want to tear down the deck when the car barely even starts and the deck is perfectly stable,” Hannibal said. It was hard to hear him over the engine and the heater, which Will had fixed with the plastic handle of a floss pick by sticking it into the gap of the controls. 

“It’s a death trap and she runs just fine,” Will patted the steering wheel, it turned into a fond caress of the cracked rubber. He was already starting to think of the truck as his own.

“She?”

Will rolled his eyes. He glanced over to Hannibal. He was on his phone.

“What are you reading?”

Hannibal didn’t answer right away.

“There’s a chance you won’t take it well.” Will looked over at him again, seeing the lack of expression on his face, he tried not to feel nervous.

“Just tell me.” 

“TattleCrime,” Hannibal said. Will groaned, pained at the mention of Freddie and her tabloid. “We have our own section. We’re referred to as ‘Murder Husbands’.”

“Don’t sound so happy about that. And don’t give her the page hits. Or the attention,” Will recoiled just picturing her red hair. “Or thought.” 

“Why? I like it. It’s cute and accurate,” Hannibal started to laugh quietly. “The forum is quite active too, though I’m not particularly fond of the pictures she chose of us.” 

 _Pictures?_ Will could feel a headache growing. “Please stop or else I’m going to have to pull over.”

It was quiet for a while. Will played with the radio trying to catch a signal, the mountains and trees made it difficult though he wasn’t entirely sure if the truck’s radio actually worked or not. He kept trying, glancing to the side every now and then to see Hannibal smiling at his phone, entertained by whatever sordid fantasies Freddie was spinning for the mass public. And Hannibal. 

“Do you read that shit often?” Will glared at the road. A year and thousands of miles later and he still couldn’t get rid of Freddie from his life. 

“Occasionally. It’s useful to keep track of those who might want to find us. And to know where they perceive us to be.”

“And _Freddie Lounds_ is the best resource for that?” Will’s mouth felt sour just saying her name. 

“She has her moments.” 

“And did one of those brief and rare moments make an appearance?” 

Hannibal was enjoying Will’s complete distaste for the conversation. 

“I’ll tell you later, perhaps when you’re in a better mood.”

Will hesitated. “Is it something bad?”

“No, nothing like that,” Hannibal patted his thigh. “I don’t want to ruin our day with undue worries.” 

Which was worrying in itself. He bit his lip. He could ask again and Hannibal would tell him whatever the not-bad news was that he’d read. 

“Fantastic,” Will said, letting it go. He changed gears, the slope of the mountain finally evening out. Hannibal went back to his reading. Will didn’t try the radio again. 

Feeling stiff, he leaned forward stretching his back out. His spine popped in a very satisfying way a few times. His chest bumped into the steering wheel and he pulled back immediately, still too sensitive. Briefly he’d forgotten his predicament-- _situation_ , his attention taken up by a temperamental truck and Hannibal’s taste in news outlets. 

Will breathed slowly, trying to relax himself. First the hardware store, then who knows.

He focused on the road and the engine and Hannibal’s hand and ignored everything else.

-

There was music playing from the in-store speakers filling up the quiet in a quiet sort of way. Will didn’t recognize the song. 

This was the first time Will had been to this hardware store. It was small enough that he could hear the cash register and the cashier ringing up customers from the other side store floor. It smelled like every other hardware store that existed and within that was a sense of familiarity Will hadn’t felt outside of Hannibal’s orbit in a long time. He dawdled, looking at tools he didn’t need right then but will at some point. Hopefully.

The house needed a lot of work. That may have been the reason Hannibal had bought it. Or maybe it was for the view or the serene calm it was incased in.

Will was knocked off balance--someone bumped into his shoulder. The good one, thankfully. Behind him was a big man with an even bigger mustache. He smiled--large and too friendly--patting Will hard on the back with succinct meaty handed smacks as he apologised.

“I’m fine,” Will said more to Hannibal who he could see approaching over the man’s shoulder. He adapted the easy going attitude of the stranger and grinned back, keeping at it until the man had moved onto a different aisle.

It was a quick and easy interaction that Will had no time to be anxious over.

He nodded to Hannibal, conveying the best he could that he was _good and no need to be so territorial_ and grateful the stranger had apologized and not accidentally prompted Hannibal into eyeing the man’s back as he left and taking note of his license plate. They weren’t ready for that. At least, Will wasn’t.

He liked their new home and he liked the quiet they were holding together and he didn’t want to leave any of it just yet.

Hannibal touched Will’s arm, fingers wrapping possessively around his bicep. It was the most they’ve touched in public and he looked around to see if anyone was watching and disappointed that no one was.

_Hot hands and Hannibal wiping white off the top of his lip._

Will rubbed at his chest. The ache was there again.

Swiftly he rolled his cart forward and put a collapsable ladder inside.

He wasn’t used to talking with people. To being social. It had been odd to be touched by someone who wasn’t Hannibal. Maybe he’d lost touch with his humanity. Or he just didn’t care to try with anyone else. His social circle had never been very big to begin with. It was more of a dot now.

The fact that he hadn’t stiffened or growled or bit at the overly touchy man was a good sign. That he could prevent Hannibal from doing worse was an even better one.

Will wandered through the aisles, putting a few things into his cart. The house had come with a roll of duct tape under the sink. The truck had an almost empty toolbox in the bed with two wrenches. Both of them caked in rust. The tools that had been with him on the boat had been left with the boat.

He’d had a shed with Molly. An entire barn and half his house back at Wolf Trap. Before that, just a toolbox he took with him from apartment to apartment. It was the only thing his father had ever given him. He had no idea where it was now. Probably in Jack’s Evil Minds Research Museum.

Now he had a cobweb filled garage empty and waiting for Will to get on with it.

Hannibal trailed after him, giving him some space. Will didn’t particularly want space.

 _Hold his hand_ , Will berated himself, his grip on the shopping cart tightening until his knuckles went white. Instead he went to the aisle with the saws, changing the subject entirely. A habit that would survive anything.

Will liked to think of it as more of a skill. Innate and perfected by hours of not wanting to talk about it or that or anything.

Hannibal examined the manual saws while Will gravitated towards the electric ones. The deck would take a while to be torn down and he’d need something light, nothing that would demand too much strain from his shoulder. Preferably wireless.

Hannibal ran his fingers over the serrated blade. A bubble of something else that was all too familiar bloomed bright inside of him.

They caught each other’s eyes. Hannibal was the first to look away.

-

It was well into the afternoon by the time Will and Hannibal exited the store, Hannibal folding the receipt neatly until it was a small square he then hid away in one of his many pockets as if Will didn’t already know how much they’d spent. They’d bought an impressive amount of tools that Will was not just a little bit excited to break open their boxes and try out.

He’d tried to explain the attractive chemical scent of new tools to Hannibal, but he had scrunched his nose, not understanding how Will could like it. It was, in that heart clenching way, endearing as hell.

Will rolled up his sleeves, pulled the truck’s trunk open and started loading the boxes. Hannibal helped, grabbing the bigger and heavier ones. Will almost laughed, catching it before it came out and instead lightly squeezed Hannibal’s arm as he passed by him in his chivalrous pursuit.

When he caught Hannibal standing stiffly, a small jerk to his posture as he straightened up along with that wrinkle in the middle of his forehead--a small tick of vulnerability Hannibal didn’t seem to know he made--Will told him to sit in the car.

Hannibal tried to argue, but Will glared. Stern and immovable. It was a relief when Hannibal did as he was told.

Will emptied the cart. Hannibal rolled his window down and sat there watching and pouting. He thought about giving Hannibal a quick kiss on the cheek, a simple display of affection. There were hardly any people out in the parking lot.

The moment passed too quickly for him. He wheeled his cart to the assigned spot, pushed it with a little more gusto and watched it as it narrowly avoided lining up with the other carts and sliding into place. He got back in the car.

“I’m fine,” Hannibal said, bottom lip still stubbornly jutted out. He may have thin lips, but pouting accentuated them prettily and Will wanted to lean over and lick him.

“Let me worry over you a little.”

“Coddling,” Hannibal corrected, having unthawed slightly. “You’re coddling, Will.”

“Then let me coddle you because I want to.” Will put the car in reverse, but didn’t move. He didn’t want to go back home just yet. It was still sunny and it was just plain nice being like this out in the world together. “We need furniture.” Will said it too loudly and very much like a declaration.

A long pause. “The walls are fairly bare.”

Will agreed. “No antlers though. Or stuffed woodland creatures.”

“Then no paintings of barns or dogs.”

“Or erotic-themed furniture.”

“It would depend on your definition of ‘erotic’.”

“I don’t want to be sitting on an orgy carved out of wood.”

“That does put a damper on my design plans,” Hannibal pretended to think about it. “What if I kept it to the bedroom?”

“Deal.” Will held his right hand out and Hannibal shook it and then lifted it to his lips, kissing the back. He did it so smoothly it took Will a moment to know what happened. He flushed horribly, palms already going clammy and the car feeling all too warm now. How Hannibal could still be wearing his coat and scarf was a mystery to him.

He was pretty sure he was sweating everywhere.

Hannibal didn’t let go. “We could hire someone,” Hannibal said, lips moving against Will’s hand, content to mouth and drag his lips all over Will. “Or simply leave it. The deck hasn’t fallen apart yet and it’s not as if the fall would kill us.”

Will groaned. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’ll ruin your shoulder.”

“I won’t.”

“Will.”

 _I’d rather that than let someone touch what’s ours_ , was what Will didn’t say, not wanting to so obviously gush and preen under Hannibal’s concern and about what they had and how he would--in a second--bare his teeth at anyone who tried to breach it.

“I’ll take things slow,” Will offered instead. “I won’t lift anything heavy enough to tear open any old injuries. That’s why we bought about seven different saws and like a thousand blades.”

“And a hundred batteries.”

“Have you ever used a wireless saw?” The quirk to Hannibal’s eyebrow told Will everything. “You worry too much.”

“You told me to go sit in the car because you think I’m incapable of lifting a box without throwing my back out. Which I haven’t done in months.”

Will looked away. His mother-hen side exposed without any sort of comeback. He could feel Hannibal’s grin like he always could. Biting and amused.

Hannibal kissed his hand again before settling both of their hands on his thigh, lacing their fingers. “You’re very adorable in your hypocrisy.”

“Shucks,” Will grumbled and started south.

-

One boutique turned into two, Hannibal not finding what he wanted and Will’s endurance for shopping slipping as the minutes ticked by, and twenty more minutes down the road they ended up in a warehouse packed full of antiques and dust and that scent of old wood furniture that’s been stored together for years made itself at home in Will’s sinuses.

Will sneezed three times. Hannibal looked more and more fond and like he wanted to hold a tissue up to Will’s nose.

They’d been told about this place by the second boutique’s clerk. She had leaned over the counter and whispered the directions into Hannibal’s ear. Will had not enjoyed the spectacle or the way the woman invaded Hannibal’s space, though Hannibal didn’t seem to mind.

Which had been not so briefly irritating.

Will left Hannibal to a wooden table he was fairly certain he could cobble together himself and even began to offer to make Hannibal one just like it before the manager, who was also one of the owners of the antique warehouse, had ambled over to discuss prices which turned into a discussion on carving techniques--Hannibal managing to squeeze in a few innuendo solely for Will to roll his eyes at--which quickly morphed into talking about Dutch history in the late 1700’s.

Hannibal was happy talking to this woman and Will tried not to feel jealous for the second time that day or envious over the ease that Hannibal had just talking and existing with people in general. Things may have changed but he was still outgoing and the epitome of a social butterfly while Will found more comfort avoiding people as a whole.

Will quickly excused himself when the Prince of Orange was mentioned, enjoying walking through the rows of stacked _things_ \--the stacks were dense enough it was hard to understand what he was looking at without pausing and attempting to distinguish the shapes.

He could still hear Hannibal and the owner chatting, their voices a low murmur at this point. There were a few other voices here and there, but he couldn’t pinpoint where they were. The warehouse seemed endless, the rows twisting and forking off into more little pathways.

Will started to laugh. He was _antiquing_ with Hannibal.

After making it to the end of the row where Will sneezed a few more times and had to wipe his watery eyes off on his sleeve--he should learn to carry a handkerchief like Hannibal, but then he would end up finding monogrammed ones hidden in his pockets if he ever brought it up, it would be a little too much for Will to take--he circled back towards Hannibal.

There was a stack of paintings, dozens of them leaning against cabinets and chairs. Will stopped to look through them. He was never big on decorating.

He had found most of the Wolf Trap furnishings that weren’t essential at garage sales or occasionally on ebay after half a bottle of whiskey. The painting above his fireplace had been from an estate sale. He’d been told the deceased had been the artist and for some reason Will had to buy it after hearing that.

It probably wasn’t even true, but Will had just been stabbed and had been happy to find something that was calming to look at when he woke up in the middle of the night from the pain in his shoulder. It was one of the few things he’s brought with him when he’d bought his house in Wolf Trap.

Big yellow eyes looked up at him. A blue dog on a neon landscape. It was a little dusty and the frame was worn. Will smiled. Hannibal would hate it and more than anything Will wanted to get it and hang it up in the dining room.

He set the painting aside, ready to try and buy it without Hannibal knowing. He’d sneak it onto the truck somehow or just ask for a cover. The owner looked like she’d play along. He turned and caught his reflection in a yellowing vanity mirror. His shirt was wet.

There were twin spots on his chest as if he had spilled something down the front of his shirt and then did it again for the sake of matching.

Quickly he folded his arms high up his chest covering himself. His palms felt the slick sticky mess of the fabric. His reflection told him to try and tone down the mortification clearly written across his face from his bulging eyes to the humiliated flush reddening his entire face. Sweat prickled at his hairline.

 _Leave_ , he thought. He could just go out the door and hide in the truck, wait for Hannibal to come out.

The panic was setting in and the idea that someone would see him like this--this intensely private thing of his--glued his feet to the floor. He felt like a mess and his shirt was getting wetter under his arms and he couldn’t get himself to move.

“What in the fuck,” Will said under his breath. He made eye contact with the blue dog. It would have to wait.

-

With no small amount of relief, the owner was not there when Will finally found Hannibal who was examining the underside of an onyx candelabra with his usual concentration.

“We have to leave,” Will said. Hissing as his nerves shook in panic, head whipping side to side to make sure no one was looking. He hadn’t run into anyone yet.

Hannibal set the candelabra down delicately--he was going to buy it and Will would wonder where exactly he was planning to put it later, much later--not allowing Will’s urgency to effect him.

Will latched onto his calmness and tried to let it soak through him and envelope him. His high strung nerves wouldn’t allow it. The milk was a forcefield determined to humiliate him, blocking even the most basics of his abilities.

“What happened?”

Will was reluctant to drop his arms and show Hannibal in public what had happened and what was still happening. Hannibal was patient though. Waiting and ready to strike.

He should be able to smell it. It was everywhere, hell even Will could smell it. Or maybe he was imagining the milky scent hanging onto him like an uncomfortable sticky cologne. He was damp with it and it was too much and the most infuriating thought was maybe Hannibal just wanted him to show him. Will couldn’t tell.

Gritting his teeth, Will unfolded his arms and showed Hannibal his wet shirt, the cool air hitting the damp spots making him shiver.

The reaction Will wanted was for Hannibal to lead him outside, making polite goodbyes to the owner with promises to come back when Will was feeling better, and take him back to the truck with minimal fuss and without drawing any unwanted focus to them and especially to Will. To go undetected and unnoticed was an inborn talent of Hannibal’s and Will was desperate to take advantage of it.

Instead Hannibal unbuttoned his jacket and hung it over Will’s shoulders leaving his scarf to unfurl around his neck and hang there loosely. Will immediately pulled the jacket tight around him.

“But--“ Will wanted to give it back, knowing Hannibal would be cold without it. He was fine covering himself until they got to the car. It wouldn’t be a new experience to run inconspicuously.

“Hush,” Hannibal said. He adjusted the jacket, straightening it and then patting the shoulders down. “Give me a moment.”

“You can buy the damn candlestick later.”

Hannibal smiled reassuringly, radiating the air of someone who saw no problem that couldn’t easily be handled and Will responded with his best _I really want to leave right now, you ass_ look and tried to be as blatantly clear as possible.

“Stop worrying and don’t move. I’ll be back in a moment.” Will wanted to argue or say a few choice words before storming out, but he only managed to open his mouth before Hannibal was leaning in close,causing everything to just stop.

Will thought he was going to kiss him. Even his panic froze and waited, holding its breath. But Hannibal nodded and rubbed his shoulder. A casual attempt at soothing.

In the chaos of his embarrassment Will was abruptly faced with his own disappointment.

He knew he should have held his hand or kissed him in the parking lot. Of the boundaries Hannibal happily overstepped, this wouldn’t ever be one of them and Will couldn’t think of the words to tell him this one had a welcome sign and he was waving him in.

Hannibal turned on his heel and walked away. His stride purposeful but not urgent as he rounded the corner and out of Will’s sight.

Will waited and stared at where Hannibal had gone. His heart thudded in his chest, louder and louder until it was all he could hear. He tried to slow his breathing. It would be okay.

Hannibal had called them _blessed_ and as much as Will wanted to brush the word off when it came to Hannibal things seemed to work out in the end. Maybe he had been onto something.

It was hardly two minutes later. Hannibal held out an unfamiliar set of keys. “Come with me.” He placed his hand between Will’s shoulders and waited for him to take the first step, giving Will a chance to choose: leave or stay.

-

The small single stall restroom was scented with artificial oranges and the sting of cleaning supplies. Unlike the rest of the warehouse, it was clean and didn’t have a speck of dust or dirt or ornamental wood carvings in it. Will wondered if Hannibal was impressed with whoever scrubbed this little tiled room and it kept him from thinking too far passed the fact that _they’re in a public restroom_ a _nd there are people right outside_ and _he’s leaking milk out of his godforsaken chest, he might actually explode_.

Hannibal locked the door. The click of it loud over the vent. The acoustics of this place would be the death of him.

Hannibal guided him to sit on the ledge of the sink, hands wound lightly around Will’s waist as if he didn’t want to push but also knew Will was too caught up in his body and its odd new _quirks_ to do much with his mind like finding a spot to sit.

Will pointedly did not look in the mirror. He didn’t want to know what he’d see. He had a fairly good idea already and he didn’t want to confirm it or see if it was worse than he’d thought.

Hannibal didn’t let go right away, making sure Will was settled, hands running up and down his sides. Petting him. Will wanted to curl up and grab him with all four of his limbs, snatch him from the world and keep him close, and then somehow magically arrive back at the house where he could take a shower and Hannibal could only ever flirt with him or talk to him or look at him.

 _A jealous asshole_ , that’s who Will was and he was A-okay with that.

But he wanted to slap his hands away. Which he did. In a much more mild sort of half push and nudge combination. It got the point across though, Hannibal let go and stayed firmly in Will’s bubble.

“What are we doing?” Will said.

“I fear I may have underestimated your production speed.”

Will blanched at the word _production_ and the context and at Hannibal in general and the fact that he was going to buy a candelabra.

Will was _leaking_. Home was an hour away. Fuck.

“Oh god.” Will looked away from Hannibal and glared at the impressively clean grout on the floor.

“Are you--?”

Will cut him off. “What do you think?”

Hannibal seemed to be persistent in his calm sort of pleasure over the situation. It was intense and smooth and flowed easily over Will, but it didn’t manage to stick to him. The battle was too hard fought and Will’s nerves were too on edge for that and he gripped that dread like a lifeline. Calmness was nowhere in sight for him. It would not come.

He closed his eyes.

Hannibal stood between Will’s knees as a solid mass of control. He nudged Will’s chin up and kissed him softly, a few sweet pecks that lasted hardly long enough but managed to accomplish its endeavor. The edges of Will’s tension melted from him in small ebbs, rounding him out to someone a bit less manic.

“May I?” Hannibal said, lips close enough that the words shaped themselves against Will’s own. Will watched the flutter of his lashes.

 _You don’t have to ask. Just do it._ Will wanted to say. He kept his mouth shut again and thought of Hannibal’s hands from last night--big and blunt and so terribly gentle with Will’s body as he milked every drop from him. Pleased and brimming with want. He’d drunk Will down and licked his lips afterwards. He’d liked it. Enjoyed it.

Will nodded, flushed. Not trusting his voice or what he might say if he allowed himself to talk.

Hannibal smoothed Will’s jacket down till it clung to his elbows. The stains on his shirt were bigger and stuck to him as a second skin, exposing his nipples to the cold air of the restroom and pebbling them. Will couldn’t look at himself and instead focused on Hannibal. The small twitches of his mouth as he tried to restrain himself from diving right in. The steady unsteadying of his demeanor as he looked and kept looking at Will’s chest and the possibilities.

 _It would be his lips this time_ , Will realized. It stole his breath. There was no glass measuring cup. Just him and Hannibal and like hell would Hannibal let this part of Will go down any drain.

Will bit his lip, a relentless gnaw to keep the whimper from escaping. Hannibal was going to suck him dry. Will shifted, wanting to squeeze his legs together and feel some friction between them, but Hannibal was there and instead he pressed tighter around Hannibal’s thighs with his own, pulling him in.

Will was aching and hard in so many places, cock growing fat in his jeans and pressing against the cotton of his boxers and the zipper was jutting out just out of reach of Hannibal. Unable to rub and grind and feel relief. His head was getting lighter and lighter and Hannibal hadn’t even put his mouth on him yet.

Hannibal’s hands shook as he undid the buttons of Will’s shirt, head bowed and focused completely, fumbling as they slipped through his fingers. He managed the first three before Will grabbed both of his wrists.

“You’re shaking.”

Hannibal didn’t look him in the eyes. Rather he stared at Will’s exposed clavicle. His lips twisted, unsure of what he wanted to show. Will could count on one hand the times where he’d had been like this.

“It’s okay.” Will said. “I want you to have this, really.” He looked around the restroom, to the lock on the door and to the 70’s floral wallpaper. “I just thought it would be at home, not two feet from a toilet.”

Hannibal’s head jerked up. Eyes a bit wider and a bit wetter than normal.

“Just when I think I know every part of you, Will, you surprise me.”

Will mumbled and shook his head.

“You’re always so dramatic,” Will said fondly. “If we get emotional in a public restroom, I’m going to seriously question the choices I’ve made.”

Hannibal laughed. Breathy and wet and abrupt and plain nice that Will ended up smiling. Hannibal finished unbuttoning Will’s shirt with sturdier hands, Will’s own hands stayed on his. Enjoying the way his tendons rippled. Just wanting to keep touching.

Hannibal pulled open his shirt as if he were uncovering something precious and delicate, taking a moment to simply admire what he was seeing. A blush bloomed on Hannibal’s cheeks. Will leaned in and kissed him just below his small scar on his cheek and Hannibal blinked, finally dipping his head and licking up the milk that had leaked and dribbled down Will’s chest. His hands grabbing Will by his waist in a strong hold that said he was not going anywhere.

Will clutched at the lip of the sink and then at Hannibal’s shoulders and pulled at his scarf and sweater, fingers twitching, trying to pace his breathing but quickly finding he couldn’t as Hannibal moved to grab his chest and cupped the meaty part of Will’s chest-- _tits_ Will thought and the word sent a spike of arousal that cut him straight through--kneading him until he had to bite down hard on his lip. He wouldn’t make a sound. He didn’t want to share that with anyone else.

Hannibal latched onto one nipple, rolling it with his tongue, making it slick and so horribly hard. Will jerked, already tender and tried to prepare himself for what was coming but when it did, when Hannibal began to suck he couldn’t keep his mouth closed. He cried out and immediately covered his mouth with his hand.

Hannibal’s lips were red and wet and perfect wrapped around the rigid nub, his hand still massaging the other side. Will bit down on his meat of his palm, arching his back to push closer and closer to Hannibal’s hot mouth.

Hannibal drank happily with loud slurps. Obscene in the stillness of the room. Will was sure the sounds could be hear by everyone in the store.

He grabbed the back of Hannibal’s head and held him there, pinning him to his chest. Hannibal nipped at him making him jump. He had never been so tender and sensitive before, like every nerve had suddenly doubled. His cock ached with every sharp pull of Hannibal’s mouth and the idea that he could actually cum like this only made it worse.

Hannibal came up for air. “Will.” He said. Moaning his name with spit slicked lips and Will wanted to kiss him then, but Hannibal ducked his head again, tongue swiping broadly against his other nipple, working it just as rigorously before sucking him in and lapping up whatever Will had to give.

His toes curled in his shoes and he hung onto Hannibal, keeping him as tightly to his chest as he could, hoping somehow they’d mesh together.

The pressure faded. Hannibal’s fervor slowed and he licked slowly, persistent in his mission to make Will’s nipples as swollen and raw as possible. Puffy little things that would be pinched and nibbled later when they were home and Will could let himself make as much noise as he wanted. Hannibal’s eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. Content to stay like this and lick Will into a twitching mess. Which he’d definitely already accomplished.

And then it was over.

Hannibal pressed himself flush against Will, a cascade of hard muscles and the fabric of his sweater rubbing and pushing against the tenderness of his chest, his heart thudding madly next to Will’s and with that Will trembled. He leaned against Hannibal, their foreheads touching, his breath stuttering out of him to be swallowed by Hannibal like everything else. Consumed alive and breathless for it.

To see Hannibal’s cheeks muddied and colored delicately made Will’s entire body shiver in pleasure.

His hips twitched and pushed upwards towards Hannibal’s the hard line of his erection tempting him to keep going with this, finish it.

He looked down at the tents in both of their pants pressed lewdly together. His chest was covered in Hannibal’s saliva and staying warm only through his own arousal and Hannibal’s body heat.

It was easy to close his eyes and focus on the sounds of their breathing and what this could be and what it really was.

They waited for the high to simmer down. Practicality showing up to remind Will that they would have to walk back to the parking lot and that people existed outside of Hannibal and himself. It took every ounce of energy he had to start buttoning his shirt. Hannibal, who was always the gentleman, helped.

Practicality was a bit of an asshole, too.

-

On the ride back Hannibal was quiet. Will followed him with his own silence, not wanting to talk and having nothing to say, too busy trying to be as close to Hannibal as possible. The good thing about older cars was the bench seating and Will took full advantage of it by sitting as close as he could without hampering Hannibal’s ability to drive, which he may have done so anyways and he didn’t really care.

Hannibal was big and warm and smelled good and god, Will just wanted to crawl on top of him.

He aimed to mold himself around Hannibal. One hand resting on his stomach and the other curled around his arm--loose enough that when Hannibal turned the wheel he could move easily.

Will rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. He was too amped up to sleep and spent the quiet drive back to the house sniffing his neck and failing to resist mouthing at him. Not really kissing. He didn’t know what he was doing other than he wanted every part of himself to be touching Hannibal.

Seeing the familiar trees leading up to the house immediately lifted Will’s spirits. They were home and he could change his shirt and they had absolute privacy with no one outside the door to eavesdrop on them. Accidental or not. The relief was on par with the one in his chest.

Hannibal turned the ignition off and had to adjust his position to look at Will’s face without straining his neck. He was amused. It was a close call, but Will managed to not hide his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck and his amazingly soft scarf.

“Why didn’t we just go to the car?” Will said.

“You were the one who chose not to.” Will didn’t buy it and Hannibal became appropriately contrite. “A mix of urgency and practicality.” His voice was low, lulling Will in. Placating him, though Will didn’t mind.“A locked door seemed more certain than an old truck pulled over on the side of the road.”

“You didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone seeing.” Will said and Hannibal nodded. “That does make sense.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought it was some sort of exhibitionist streak coming out in you.”

Hannibal looked thoughtful. _Of course_. “An interesting idea.”

“One you’ve never thought of before, right?”

“Not once in my life.”

Will sighed. Drained. Literally and figuratively. He felt his face heat up. “That was humiliating.”

“They didn’t suspect anything had happened. I told them you were feeling ill.”

Will mumbled something into Hannibal’s shirt. Jumbled words that didn’t mean anything other than to reinforce just how embarrassed he was over all this.

Hannibal curled his fingers around a few locks of Will’s hair, tugging slightly and enjoying the little groan Will made if his laugh was anything to go by.

“It’s a little early for dinner, would you like some lunch?”

“Aren’t you full yet?"

“I can’t help it, I get hungry just looking at you.” Will warmed at the compliment, even if it was a flirtation veiled inside a bad joke. Or pun. Or maybe it was just the truth.

All three. Definitely all three.

“A shower.” Will decided. Then because why not, “Wanna go cuddle on the couch?”

-

 _This was getting old_. Will stared blearily at his reflection, hair a mess and bags under his eyes, but his shirt was wonderfully dry in the front--the sweat a normal occurrence though not nearly as bad as it used to be.

The lights were off. Hannibal was still asleep, his soft snores were loud in the quiet.

Just how many nights would he be waking up full and ready to feed?

He was a cow. He would eat, shit, and produce milk and that was now his lot in life. To graze and be milked by the friendly farmer.

The image of Hannibal in overalls was a good one though. He would buy him a pair at some point. Hell, they could wear overalls together and really cement their status as _that_ couple.

Will attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He’d need to make a schedule and plan for this and adjust it so he could actually sleep through the night without having an issue. It was getting repetitive and he would appreciate it if his body would hold out until morning.

A foot to his left was a grasshopper sitting innocently in the bathroom sink next to Will. It was big and brown and even in the dark Will could tell it was a bird grasshopper. _Schistocerca_ _americana_. Knowing the scientific names enough to use them correctly was a skill a younger Will would have been very, very proud of. 

For a brief moment he was tempted to ignore it, maybe it would stay and, while it may not be a dog, it was a small living thing and in his tired head he could even call it kind of cute.

Approaching it slowly, Will managed to grab the little guy and walk it outside with only a bit of trouble with the locked door that he managed to solve with his elbows. He walked it over to the bushes before letting it go, hearing only the first jump as it landed and then it disappeared and Will hoped with all the sentimentality his tired brain could cobble together that the grasshopper found its way back home.

For a few minutes Will stayed crouched in the back yard listening to the crickets and the slight breeze shuffling the trees, letting the cold seep through him until his feet and hands were icy, coming to a decision.

He would use the pump. It was the cleanest option and with less mess it meant he would be able to go back to bed sooner. Plus, it would be a nice surprise for Hannibal in the morning. If he wasn’t already awake.

He couldn’t depend on Hannibal every time. It wasn’t practical and Will’s pride smarted--he needed to do this on his own.

The door clicked shut--as did Will’s very short lived plans--and after a moment where he was deciding if Will wanted company or not, he came to stand beside him, his own feet just as bare.

“Sneaking out of our bed is becoming quite the habit,” Hannibal said quietly.

Will shrugged. “There was a grasshopper. I thought it might enjoy being outside more than living the rest of its life in the bathroom.”

“That was kind of you.”

Will straightened up, dusting off his knees and boxers. He looked at Hannibal--arms wrapped around his middle and hair sticking out everywhere, rumpled and soft.

Will headed back inside, Hannibal following. “You can go back to bed.”

“I’m all right.”

Will made a pained sound. He went into the kitchen and looked through the cabinets and then the pantry, growing more and more frustrated. Hannibal leaned against the doorway, watching him, but didn’t offer any assistance. He was adapting the role of the curious bystander.

“Where’s the pump?” Will said.

In a few long strides Hannibal was by his side, hands on his shoulders and trying to bring some calmness to Will’s nerves. he hadn’t realized just how frayed they’d become. The exhaustion and the downpour of pressure in his chest were an awful combination.

“I threw it out.” Hannibal admitted. Slightly apologetic. Will twitched, full bodied and took a long deep breath. “From your reaction I thought the idea of having it made you uncomfortable and you wouldn’t want to use it.”

Will dug the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw little sparks, frustration meandering and coming closer and closer. He was just so tired.

Hannibal gripped Will’s wrists and pulled, peering at him and too awake for anyone to be so early in the morning. But Hannibal was never just anyone and seemed adamant to keep it that way.

He looked down at Will’s chest and Will felt that tightness again, that blooming heat beginning to curl inside of him.

“May I?”

Will tugged his hands free and stepped back until he had enough space to breathe.

“You’re always so polite about this, why do you even bother asking when you know what I’ll say?” Will said. It was patronizing being treated like this. Irritation took root and he wasn’t entirely sure who it was for at this point. Hannibal or himself for letting it go one for so long.

Will pinched his nose, suddenly missing his glasses.

Hannibal lowered his hands slowly. He was still, hiding as much of himself as he could.

“If I don’t ask, would you offer?” He said. It was so simple and in that moment Will hated that Hannibal could be so aggravatingly placid. “Tell me, Will. You said you would have wanted to do this at home, but would you have waited for another accident to happen or would you have actually come to me and simply asked?”

Hannibal’s head was cocked to the side and it was as if they were back in his office. Hannibal in his psychiatrist suit, poised and collect, hair slicked back into a dominating force. All at once intimidating and welcoming as he listened and watched Will like every word he said had importance and all of Will’s problems would be solved if he just accepted what was in front of him.

“I just,” Will clenched his fists, frustrated with himself. _Open and honest_. He missed that. He pushed ahead. “You know,” he started slowly, testing out the waters before going all in. “I’m not going to leave, right?”

Hannibal stared at him. He looked away. Body rigid and ready to defend. Will’s heart clenched in that way that said he was being a dick and that Hannibal, despite everything, didn’t know how to handle any of this either. He deflated.

Sneaking out of a warm bed. Snapping at Hannibal because he was annoyed at himself. What was he doing?

“I don’t know if I was going to ask for your help. Chances are, I probably wouldn’t have.” Will stepped closer until he could grab hold of Hannibal’s hand. His fingers were still cold. Hannibal’s eyes burned on his skin. “But you don’t need to treat me like some delicate thing.”

“I would never force myself on you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Then I’ll keep asking.” Hannibal tightened his hold on Will’s hand and led him into the dining room, pulling a chair out for him. Will sat and watched Hannibal light one of the many candles he kept stored away in the buffet. It lit the room just enough.

Hannibal kneeled next to Will’s chair, the sight never failed to make him squirm in his seat. His legs fell open without thought, he close them quickly. Blushing. Hannibal smiled up at him indulgently and laid his hand high up on Will’s thigh.

Any comment he had about it being too early for this much romance quickly disappeared with the warm adoring look Hannibal was giving him.

“What do you think of this new intimacy?”

Will swallowed. “It’s nice?” 

And it was nice. It was good. He enjoyed the act of it and liked having Hannibal so inebriated by his body.

 _I like you drunk off of me_ , Will thought. 

Hannibal’s fingers began to circle his inner thigh, making Will’s leg jump. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking of this.” Hannibal tugged at Will’s shirt, urging him to raise his arms, taking it off of him in one pull. He folded it and set it on the table. “The way you look being milked. The sounds you make as you’re emptied into my mouth and settle in my belly. It’s--“ 

“--Overwhelming.” Will said. Face hot and chest pounding. Heart already making an escape through his rib cage. 

“Yes.” Hannibal nodded, pleased with him. “I’m drinking a part of you and there’s no end to my delight when I think of this.” 

“I just don’t want to depend on you. It’s not realistic.” 

“Have we ever been confined by realism?” Hannibal said. “Do you think I would mind waking up for you?” 

“I know you wouldn’t, that’s not the problem.” Will sighed. “I’m an idiot.” 

Hannibal shook his head, he cupped Will’s face. “It’s not idiotic to take time adjusting. You’re changing. We should both be quite familiar with that.” 

He slid his hands slowly down Will’s throat and to his chest, wide palms gliding over his nipples. Will huffed as his body spasmed to the familiar sensation. His body couldn’t get enough. 

“And you only say that because you like,” Will gestured to his chest. Hannibal cupped him, his skin flushed and eager to be taken apart by skilled lips. “ _Milking_ me. 

“I more than _like_ it.” Hannibal ducked his head and licked at the tip of Will’s nipple, swirling his tongue around and around the pink edge in wet circles until Will was breathing hard, mouth hanging open and eyes half shut, before latching on. Sucking him down. 

It was different from the restroom. The lighting severe that made the hard edges of Hannibal’s face sharper and more lethal. The few glimpses of his teeth were like the muzzle of a gun and Will held onto the back of Hannibal’s head, letting himself moan as he wanted and reeling as Hannibal made his own sounds too, vibrating up Will’s sternum that pushed the breath out of him. 

It was more intimate and Hannibal swallowing in large gulps more obscene in the quiet of their house. Will couldn’t stop looking at the bruising press of his lips suctioned on him, swallowing every last drop from his breast. 

Will wondered what Hannibal was drinking from him. If it was all good emotions making the milk sweet and warm or if it would hold the panic he had yesterday and give it a sharp tang. If his anger would make it bitter. If Hannibal would taste all these things as he drank from him--suckling him dry with the cruel curl of his mouth. 

He could try and taste it again. Siphon from Hannibal's mouth, lick it from Hannibal's tongue. Maybe Hannibal could feed him, let it dribble from his own mouth to Will's. He wanted all of that, right then. To simply give in.

Hannibal pulled away, a string of saliva trailing after him connected to Will’s chest. Hannibal looked up at him, breaking it with a lick of his tongue.

"I would live on my knees for you,” Hannibal said, his voice hoarse. Will’s own wasn’t much better. 

"You're so maudlin." 

"And you like it." 

"It's impossible not to enjoy Hannibal Lecter saying things like that to me." 

"Then let me say one more," Hannibal moved to cup Will’s other breast carefully as if he were handling something that would break with a slight wrong twitch of the finger. He was being handled like something precious, Will still didn’t know how to handle this. "You have adorable tits." 

"Jesus," Will coughed, choking on Hannibal’s words, which turned into a loud bark of a laugh that had his stomach shaking. He fisted Hannibal's shirt, trying to collect himself. Hannibal was holding him up from collapsing, grinning as much as he ever did. ”You absolute dick."

"It was a bit crass, I admit, but it's the truth.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/)


End file.
